Interludes
by Sisimka
Summary: Aedan retires as Warden Commander of Ferelden and prepares to take his place as Teryn of Gwaren. On the road, he is ambushed by his past and present, in many forms. Rated M for violence and mature themes. Adventure/Drama/Romance. Aedan/Leliana/Alistair
1. Family

_A/N: As always, thanks to Bioware for letting me play in their sandbox. Though I am five years beyond the Blight, I do still draw upon their characters and their world for my inspiration._

Interludes _will comprise three linked stories that occur during the same time period. One will describe Aedan's journey to Gwaren. This is my Ferelden, so we all know he's not simply going to walk there unchallenged. He has recently made choice that will affect the rest of his life, can he stand by his convictions? Another follows Alistair's adjustments to certain situtions and the third charts a new course for the Teyrn of Highever. I've not written Fergus before and he had a lot of tales to tell. I hope this is only the beginning of his story for me. A coupe of Luke chapters will pop up here and there to show things from his unique perspective. _

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Family

Aedan wrapped his arms more tightly about his wife and kissed the top of her head. Leliana leaned back against him, sitting in his lap with her legs stretched out over his, and sighed gently, contentedly. Spread before them, the pasture of tufted grass slowly turned brown, then grey, as the last rays of the setting sun lifted and disappeared behind the trees. Leliana shivered lightly as a breeze whispered into being, the sort that chases the sun from the sky each evening, and Aedan held her closer.

"I will miss this," he whispered softly.

"You can watch sunsets in Gwaren, Aedan."

"I mean all of this, just being together every day, with the children, it's been idyllic, Leli."

As they'd talked about on the ship, the past month had almost resembled the life they might have dreamed for themselves.

Their first month in Highever had held its share of ups and downs, trials and successes. They had won through and the second month had been more ups, less downs, mostly good days. Aedan felt present and strong again. The restlessness had abated, the sadness had become manageable. He knew what he felt was normal now; he didn't need to fear it or hide from it. Occasionally he would still become overwhelmed, but he coped better. Instead of seeking solitude and the numbness, the nothingness, he sought people. His wife, his brother, his children. Sometimes he told them what he felt and other times he just let the rhythm of their separate lives and thoughts carry him through.

The day after tomorrow they would leave for Denerim. Aedan had decided it was time to go home to Gwaren, to take his place as Teyrn, to properly begin the new life he had chosen for himself. The temptation to travel to Amaranthine first, to visit his brothers had lingered for a day or two, but in the end he'd decided to continue on straight to Denerim and Gwaren after that. He feared returning to Vigil's Keep would reignite the fever. And they were not his Wardens anymore. They were Garret's or Philippe's or… not his.

Aedan did hope to see Philippe in Gwaren, however. A deeper relationship existed there.

Leliana turned slowly in his arms and set herself astride his lap, her legs hooked around his waist. She touched her nose to his and looked into his eyes. "We will spend out days together in Gwaren, my love. I am coming with you."

Aedan blinked into her deep blue eyes and drew his thoughts back to her. He smiled at her offer and kissed her, softly at first, then more deeply as the love he felt for her wrapped around him and held him as tightly as he held her. He'd never have admitted it to her, but he was a little nervous about going to Gwaren by himself. He was afraid of being alone. When not surrounded by people the silence sometimes still called, the numbness still beckoned. But he'd decided against asking her to come with him. Leliana had given up so much for him already.

Even if she only stayed for a while, to see him settled, it would be that much harder to say goodbye when she left. Leliana could not ignore her duties as chancellor indefinitely and he would not ask her to.

"Leli," he finally said, resting his forehead to hers. "You should not trouble yourself. I will likely be back and forth between Gwaren and Denerim." More than he should be, he suspected. He doubted that would sit well with a seneschal who probably thought him unsuitable for the task of governance. Wardens killed darkspawn… "We will see each other much more than we did before."

"I want to be with you, as we talked of, on the ship..." she began.

Aedan interrupted. "And you have been, and will be again. I will be alright. I am recovered enough to…" Do what? Be alone? He tried a different tack. "Your work, in Denerim. You have already been away…"

Fingers touched his lips and he stopped speaking. Leliana dropped her hand and leaned back a little so that he could see her face properly. This indicated that she wanted to tell him something important and Aedan watched her eyes as she spoke, seeing how she had dropped all of her masks and sat before him as simply Leliana.

"Aedan, much as I did enjoy my work, I only stayed on as chancellor for as long as I did to keep myself occupied, to give myself something to do other than sit at home and fret over you."

The guilt twisted hard and he felt his cheeks colouring with it. Breath caught in his throat and refused to move, becoming a solid lump and Aedan tried to swallow over it. Then he hid his face in her shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Leli, I'm so sorry." His words were soft, muffled, but the mournful tone could be clearly distinguished. The emotions he felt were horrible and the temptation to abandon them beckoned, but he did not, he held fast to the clench of his gut and the bitter taste of his remorse, having learned that the more he embraced it, the better he could deal with it.

His throat felt sore, another sensation he'd become familiar with, the ache of repressed tears. Aedan hated feeling like this, so weak and emotional. But the alternative was worse and so he let it play out and breathed a shuddering sigh of relief as it began to pass, his stomach uncurling, his throat opening and his breath returning.

Leliana sat still throughout. She seemed to sense when the storm had passed and, reaching behind herself, she pulled his fingers from her waist and tangled them with hers. A soft smile played over her lips as she leaned in and whispered, "I am a Teyrna and a wife and a mother. I am your partner and friend and lover. All of these things are enough, Aedan. Half of them, one of them would have been enough. I do not want more, I do not need more. I just need you."

What could he say to that? His wife, the minstrel, had a way with words he did not possess.

"Leli, I… are you sure, have you…" Fingers touched his lips again.

Leliana tilted her head and arched a single brow. Aedan knew that look.

"Thank you, Leli." He hugged her again. He'd let her go in just a second, or maybe a minute. He could hug her anytime he wanted to now, tonight, tomorrow and on the road to Denerim. Then on the road to Gwaren. Then in Gwaren, whenever he wanted to. So he could let go now... But he didn't, not for a long, long time.

-=0=-

It had not been an easy decision, in retrospect, that of giving up her position as chancellor. Leliana expected to agonise over it, feel guilt, and she did. She would be letting down a friend. She tried to tell herself that Alistair did not really need her. He thought he did, just as he thought he needed Teagan's council, his wife's advice. While the words of others were valuable and the opinions of all carried weight, ultimately Alistair ruled Ferelden and he did it well.

The initiatives in place were of his design. Brenna, his queen, helped him formulate those that coincided with her interests, just as Teagan helped with his, and Leliana had with hers. But the ideas came from Alistair. Leliana believed that after his recent victory in the tunnels beneath Denerim, his new status as a hero to his city would fortify the young man and help boost his confidence. Or so she hoped.

Her words to Aedan had been true. While she did enjoy working with Alistair, she had only done it for as long as she had in order to fill her days. She might have endured life at Vigil's Keep, but the place was too aptly named. Her days would have been spent doing just that, keeping vigil. In Denerim she had purpose. In Gwaren, she would have purpose _and_ her husband.

Though tempted to discuss it with Aedan, she preferred to tell him once her decision had been made. A flicker of guilt did tickle at this, that she had not given him the option to talk her out of it. But ultimately she felt it was her decision and that he would respect that. And of course he did.

She had discussed it with Fergus, however.

Catching the Teyrn alone proved easy enough. Aedan often napped in the afternoons and Nan never minded watching the children for her. Leliana found him relaxing in his study. She hesitated to interrupt what appeared to be quiet reverie, but he saw her and his face broke into a genuine smile as he beckoned her forward.

"What's up?" he asked, gesturing the pair of comfortable chairs set before the hearth. He sat down in one and waited for her to sit in the other. "Did you want some tea, something stronger?"

"No, Fergus, I won't keep you long." Though likely she would, for a while. But he could not mind, he never did. Fergus and Aedan shared many qualities, including their patience and ability to properly listen and attend to their companions. Looking at Fergus now, sitting there with his attentive expression, Leliana smiled. From a painting she had seen, Fergus favoured both his father and mother, but he had Eleanor Cousland's eyes, wide and brown, tending towards green in the right light. Aedan had told her that his mother's eyes were greener, bright green. She preferred Fergus's warmer brown shade. Aedan, of course, looked just like his father, down to the cool blue eyes and narrow nose.

"I wanted to ask your opinion on something," she finally said after a moment of comfortable silence.

"Of course."

"I am thinking of going to Gwaren with Aedan." A simple statement with so many meanings.

"And you want my opinion? Leli, you know better than I what Aedan needs." Fergus leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, an indication he settled in for a longer chat. Leliana smiled. "But I think he would do well on his own now, he seems much recovered. He would be busy, he and I have already discussed policy and he has ideas, exciting ideas. I think he is ready for this." He paused for a moment before adding, "He was born to this, Leli. He always had a better head for politics than I. Much as he would try to deny it."

Leliana nodded to all of this. She agreed with Fergus and Aedan's enthusiasm for his new role excited her. It had helped her to make her own decision. But now, telling Fergus her real purpose in seeking him out had her feeling suddenly shy and she flushed a little with it. She could have tried not to let her emotion colour her cheeks and for many years she had done just that around so many people. But Fergus was her family now, a brother to her in more than just name, and she held a special fondness for the quiet man.

"Actually, Fergus, I wanted to talk about my role in," she gestured with her hand, "in Aedan's future."

Concern drew the Teyrn's brows together. "Your role? Leli, what are you saying? Aedan…"

"Oh, Fergus, I am not explaining myself well." She needed to just come out and say it. "I want to give up my role as chancellor. I want to be with Aedan in Gwaren, always."

A broad smile settled across Fergus's face and he nodded. "You will be a formidable pair! What concerns you? Do you think Aedan might object? He would not…"

"No, not really. I worry more for Alistair. A chancellor is more than a functionary. I would like to suggest a suitable replacement, and I also wanted your opinion, and…"

"And you fear you are letting down a friend."

"Yes." Leliana almost breathed the word rather than said it. She had known Fergus would understand.

Fergus got out of his chair and stepped next to hers. He crouched down and took her hand. "You should do this for yourself, Leli. You are important to all of us. Alistair will understand. You are his friend, of course he will understand."

Though she had been sure Alistair would understand, having someone else confirm it helped. Squeezing Fergus's fingers gently, Leliana summoned a smile, one that hopefully banished the tightness around her mouth and her eyes. She was not used to asking for help, she was more used to helping others. Fergus urging her to do it for herself touched upon what she had been struggling with for some time.

"Thank you for listening, Fergus."

"Anytime, Leli." He stood up and patted her shoulder. "Now, as Aedan is sleeping and the children are playing, do something else for yourself. Go have some fun."

With a grin, Leliana stood and captured the Teyrn's hand. "Only if you will come with me. This will be our last chance to spend time together for a while. I have become used to having a brother; I will miss you, Fergus." She saw the warmth in his eyes and knew she had said the right thing.

They took a walk and talked of nothing important, both content to simply spend time together. Afterwards they found Aedan playing with the children in the garden.

Fergus went to step forward and Leliana pulled him back. She whispered softly, "I just want to watch for a moment."

He seemed to understand and stood quietly in the shadow of the tree with her. Leaning against the tree, Leliana watched her family, unobserved for the moment. She let her mind range back over the previous two months. Despite the journey, and mentally she added Val Royeaux and nearly all that had preceded it to the 'journey', she felt she had finally come home.

Aedan had recovered. He had come back to her, to himself. His cheeks still looked a little hollow and he could stand to gain some weight. He napped more than he had before, he still indulged in silences, he still struggled with nightmares. But when she thought back to the Blight, she remembered a young man that enjoyed napping, quiet time and who had nightmares. He was a strong, strong man. He had prevailed then, and he had now. Aedan thought he got his strength from her. Leliana hoped he had begun to realise that it came from within, and that she merely supported him, a brick to his house, a lintel if she must be.

When he smiled now, his whole face lit with it. Life had returned to his eyes and vigour to his movements. When he spoke of politics and what he might do as Teyrn, she could see the fire within him again, the purpose. Aedan was a man that required a reason for being. She had been the same, still was in a sense, only her reasons had become less tangible. While her work as chancellor had provided a purpose, it had also been a distraction – one she no longer needed. She would be doing something for herself now.

They were a family once more. A proper family. One she had never had, one Aedan had lost and sought to regain. Leliana wanted this to be her purpose, she had for a while. She had tried to be strong for everyone and it had nearly broken her. When Aedan had collapsed after their return to Denerim, she had thought it might be the end. It had scared her nearly more than anything they had endured in Val Royeaux. She had given Aedan everything, willingly, and she felt that if he left, he would take it all with him, leave her empty.

A giggle floated over to the trees and Leliana leaned forward and peeked out. Unbidden a smile came to her face, an easy smile, one that cost no effort and warmed her heart. She had mixed memories of the gravel paths and arrangements of hedgerows and roses spread before her. Over there she had wept in Aedan's arms after he had told her the truth about Morrigan. They had been married there in the centre. She had been dragged along those paths as a captive when kidnapped.

Though the two of the incidents had been dark, they did not overshadow the garden for her. Besides her wedding, many happy moments had taken place along those paths and between the hedges, beneath the trees. She and Aedan had walked there, sat there and made love there, her children had played there, and right now, Aedan chased his daughter along the same gravel pathways and between the same trees, high pitched giggles spilling from her lips, soft growls following her as the Hero of Ferelden pretended to be a bear.

A flash of movement caught her eye and Rory leapt from behind a tree, standing in the path before his sister. Grace screamed and then collapsed in a fit of giggles and Rory turned his face up towards his father in a rare, brilliant smile. Her son was a happy and content child, but he saved the widest of his smiles for special occasions, doling them out like gifts. It made them all the more beautiful to her mind and she knew Aedan thought the same.

Grace looked over saw Fergus. "Fergie," she called and waved. Then those grey eyes caught hers and the little girl's face lit up like sunshine. "Mummy!"

Aedan and Rory looked over and all three of them waved. "Why are you two over there when you could be over here?" Aedan asked with a grin.

Leliana laughed and waved. "We were being stealthy!" she called and turned to Fergus with a wink. Fergus strode out from the shadow of the tree, a wide grin on his face and Leliana quickly followed, saying "Wait for me!"


	2. Charting the Days

_Alistair and his wife, Brenna, have been trying to conceive a child of their own for several years with no success. At the end of my story, _Unforeseen Melodies_, Leliana gives Alistair two things: A small bottle of the same potion Morrigan used the night of the Dark Ritual and instructions on how to use it. _

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Charting the Days

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Alistair had performed his own very private ritual, drunk the potion and made love to his wife. He was not usually a morning person, but lately he'd taken to waking before dawn and spent the time before Brenna woke lying quietly with his thoughts.

After Rory and Grace left for Highever with their parents, Brenna had been bereft. She had cried, unashamed, when Aedan and Leliana departed Denerim, their two young children in hand. He and Brenna had watched over Rory and Gracie for a month and despite the horror of that time – the plague, the discovery of Deep Roads beneath the city, the Mage – there had been so many bright moments. Memories of the children's tantrums and bouts of tears, the few sleepless nights, paled in comparison to the bright smiles and laughter, the games, the stories, the feel of a small hand in his and the look on Brenna's face as she tended them as if they were her own.

Alistair was tempted to tell Brenna about the potion, but he did not. If the ritual failed, he would bear the disappointment alone. And so far, though not entirely privy to the secret goings on of females, he'd detected no change in his wife's demeanor. She smiled as sweetly as ever, seemed to bound with energy and her body remained svelte.

Looking for some sign things had… progressed, Alistair peered at his wife, his eyes narrowed and calculating. The vague early morning light played over her pale skin, giving it a soft, pearly glow. Her hair looked darker, her lips more red. Did she seem paler than usual? Were those dark smudges beneath her eyes due to fatigue, or just shadows? He'd heard women got very tired when pregnant, and moody, and round! Her green eyes opened and widened beneath his scrutiny.

"Are you well, Brenna?" he asked, his tone a little too anxious. "How did you sleep?"

She returned his look with a quiet laugh and replied, "Better than you, I think. Why are you looking at me like that?"

Thinking quickly, Alistair smiled, his visage spontaneously softening. "Because you are beautiful, love."

His wife regarded him suspiciously a few seconds longer before easing her own expression, a smile curving her red lips. "Well that's nice to wake up to."

Brenna's arms slipped around his shoulders, pulling him down, and Alistair forgot about his questions for a while…

The queen worked tirelessly to further the position of elves within Ferelden. One aspect of her work included spending several mornings a week at the chantry in Denerim where she conducted classes for orphans of all races. She often spoke of her work there and Alistair always listened. She would talk about this child or that and Alistair always detected the mingling of joy and longing in her voice.

"What would you think of allowing maybe one or two children, the orphans, to stay in the palace from time to time, as a treat?" Brenna asked one afternoon as they sat in the large and empty central garden of the palace together. It was three weeks after the ritual and though Alistair tried not consciously keep track of the time, sometimes even counting the days to when Aedan had left Denerim rather than the days to when he'd drunk the bitter fluid, both dates were circled on the mental calendar within his mind and he could not help but count forward every morning as if marking off each new day with an 'x'…

Looking out over the formal hedgerows and neatly tended flower beds, Alistair sighed. He knew what Brenna really wanted to ask and he wondered why she had taken this route. "I have no objection to it, Brenna. You can organize for as many of the orphans as you like to tour the galleries, play in the gardens and visit the kitchens. I know Bettina will make sure not a single one leaves without a bag of cookies." He turned to her and took her hand. "But to have them stay overnight…" he hesitated and paused.

Alistair thought back to his own childhood, the various places he had slept. The stables at Redcliffe, the occasional night by the hearth in the kitchen when he could get away with it, the single night in the dungeons of the castle when he'd been fool enough to get trapped down there. And then at ten he'd been sent to the chantry. He'd spent the next eleven years in dormitories not unlike those the orphans shared. Rows of narrow bunks with inadequate mattresses, thin blankets and the grumbles and snores of others. A single night somewhere as grand as the palace might have seemed a wonderful treat, but he couldn't help wondering what his bunk would look like afterwards: spare, grey, hard, cold.

Brenna touched his cheek and Alistair realised he'd become lost in his memories. He tried to clear his expression. What had she seen in his eyes? "Oh, Alistair, I… I forgot. I'm sorry. How insensitive of me." She'd seen it all then.

"It's alright, love. I have you now, and the best bed in the palace," he said, keeping his tone light. Slipping an arm about her shoulders, he hugged her close. "I want to do as much for them as you do, love. Really, I do – children being the future and all that." And he had the added incentive of his own childhood... "But one night is not going to change their lives." His brows drew together in thought. "You and Leliana were drawing up plans for a new orphanage were you not?"

Nodding gently, Brenna said, "We were, but have yet to find a suitable location or the funds for it. Now, in the aftermath of the plague…"

They both fell quiet a moment. Everything came down to coin, even the most human of dramas and awful tragedies eventually got broken down into lists of figures. Alistair had been astounded by the cost of restoring Denerim following the siege and as King he'd had to listen to pleas from all over Ferelden, people asking for lumber, stone, medical supplies, food, tools, wool, even shoes. And those had been the simple favours. There had been disputes and the inevitable requests for gold. On the surface, recovery from the plague would not cost as much, but there was a hidden price: more orphans. Many had died, either of the sickness or in defense of the city.

"What about one, Alistair? One child. There is a boy…" Brenna started and Alistair turned to look at her once more, and his chest tightened. This was what she'd been angling towards, he felt sure.

Tightening his hold about her shoulders in a gentle hug, he said gently, "Tell me about him."

She told him about Henric. "He is sweet natured and has been at the chantry his entire life, so he does not suffer nightmares like some of the older children. Though luxuries have been scarce, he has always known the care and the kindness of the sisters. But as he does not talk, the sisters think him dim witted. I don't think he is, Alistair. I watch him and he watches everything and he sees it all, I know he does. I think he is waiting for the right moment and then he'll tell us it all at once, everything he wants to say."

Brenna's face became animated as she talked about Henric. Her eyes sparkled and her lips curved. He could almost feel her skin tingle and vibrate beneath his fingers as he touched her hand. Brenna wanted this child, not just to visit, but to be theirs. She wanted one for her very own, one she could love every day, not just several mornings a week. But to adopt an orphan? Personally, Alistair did not oppose the idea, but he wondered what Ferelden would think of it. This would be more than an adopted son. Would Henric be a legitimate heir to the throne? One who didn't… speak?

"Brenna, I admire your purpose and I understand it." His voice dropped. Would the potion work? It had only been three weeks. How long should he give it? He and Brenna had talked of adoption before, vaguely, as something to consider, if and when. There still might be an 'if', there could be a 'when'. How could he ask for more time without telling her about the ritual? Alistair hated keeping a secret from his wife, but he didn't want to raise her hopes and then watch them fall day by day, just as his seemed to be doing as time passed and she showed no signs of being pregnant. "Will you, can we… wait? Just a little longer, love." He needed to give her something more tangible. "But, I will come visit with Henric, get to know him."

She beamed like the sun and wrapped her arms tightly about him and Alistair fought with the absurd urge to cry.

One month. It had been one month since Alistair had performed his own very private ritual, drunk the potion and made love to his wife. Laying there in the predawn light, he marked the day off on his mental calendar, the imaginary 'x' darker than those preceding it.

He kept his promise and visited her at the chantry. When he saw the way she looked down at the upturned faces of the children, his heart twisted. They should have their own; Brenna should have her own child! He picked Henric out right away. A small child with a placid face, brown hair, brown eyes and a liberal sprinkling of soft brown freckles across his pale skin. Alistair could see how the impassive expression could be mistaken for lack of thought, but he could also see how the boy's eyes moved about. Henric saw everything. Then Brenna moved into view and the boy's mouth quirked up in a tentative smile.

A small finger pointed out the king and Alistair stepped forward to greet his wife and her young charge. After kissing Brenna's cheek he crouched down to shake the solemnly extended hand. "Good morning, Henric," he said quietly. "How do you do?"

The brown eyes met his for several seconds and then Henric simply nodded and tugged his hand away. Alistair had not expected him to talk and so he took no offense. He simply sat back and watched the boy interact with the others. He played normally and the other children did not fault his silence, they merely talked to him and for him and in the intuitive way of children, seemed to get it right most of the time.

Alistair tried to imagine seeing the boy every day, he studied the small face and tried to imagine it becoming familiar. He found that he could. But still, he wanted to wait. He gave Brenna the only excuse he could think of, he needed time. She seemed to understand. He needed to help Denerim recover from the plague first. She told him she would be patient.

For the next two weeks Alistair invested himself in his work, burying his thoughts beneath the constant stream of paperwork and duty that never seemed to abate.

Once again, Denerim had to recover from the darkspawn, this time a tainted plague. The newly appointed Arl of Denerim had proved to be a good administrator. Years of negotiating with his sister had made Garrett of South Reach both a good listener and concise speaker. Days after taking up residence at the Arl of Denerim's estate he had already cleared the house of its cobwebs and shadows, even taking up a broom himself. A man of action, but not without thought, he had also taken proper charge of the city of Denerim, had effectively removed it from Alistair's care. Though his manner sometimes seemed abrupt, his policy and effectiveness proved his worth. Alistair was pleased with the appointment.

Besides the continuing expeditions beneath the ground, the chantry had shown great interest in recovering any Tevinter relics and artifacts, the structure of Fort Drakon required repairs due to the quakes. Fissures had appeared in smooth rock walls that had soared above the landscape of Ferelden since before the city of Denerim had surrounded it.

Alistair retained the services of Voldrik Glavonak, the master stonemason who had repaired Vigil's Keep. The stout dwarf regarded the tower reverently for several long minutes, Oghren and Alistair waiting patiently at his side.

Oghren's patience ran out first. "Out with it man, can ya fix it or not?"

Apparently dwarves were capable of withering looks. Voldrik's features scrunched even further beneath the already deep furrows and creases lining his face and he glared at the Commander a moment before turning on his heel, choosing to ignore his fellow dwarf entirely. He eyed Alistair up and down. "The Warden found me a source of proper stone."

Alistair blinked at the word proper. Wasn't all stone… proper? He understood there might be good stone and bad stone, but proper stone? Did he mean real stone? As opposed to… his thoughts were cut short by the dwarf clapping him on the shoulder, a wide grin stretching his features.

"Yes, I can fix it, but we'll need to quarry stone from the Wending Wood, unless you know of a closer source of granite?"

"Ah…" He did not know. Stone to repair the city had been quarried from the southern cliffs along the bay leading up to Denerim. Good stone, normal stone. He had no idea if it was proper stone. "I don't think so. I can send some men out to scout for some?"

"Good idea. In the meantime I'll draw up plans." The dwarf clapped his meaty hands together and whistled softly. "This is a job. This is worthy of my talent. This…" he pointed to tower of _proper_ stone, "is stone."

Alistair left him to it. After walking a few steps, he had to return to retrieve Oghren, who had started to argue with the mason over his sense of stone. Given that both men were surface dwarves and that Voldrik had dwelled above the stone longer than Oghren had, Alistair might have sided with his commander. But, he had a fort in need of Voldrik's skill, Voldrik's sense of stone, a sense that had _obviously_ not become impaired by his years beneath the blue and awesome sky. Dwarves could be such a contentious lot!

The king pulled his commander aside and looked at him a moment. He had a question to ask, but decided to borrow Brenna's tactic of leading up to it. Instead he said, "The city seems to be getting back on its feet. Denerim is already much recovered from the plague. People are calm and happy again, the elves have a vote," here he introduced the subject of change, something out of the ordinary, "the nobles are quiet…" would they remain so if he even hinted at putting another bastard on the throne?

Oghren, of course, put it his own spin on things. "Well, if Garrett turns into another Vaughan we'll just sling one of those amulets around 'is neck, eh?"

Alistair was too shocked to respond. He changed the subject.

"You hear the men talk, Oghren. Tell me, how do you think people might react to Brenna and I adopting a son?" He had good reason to ask Oghren. To dwarves, bloodlines were important, but Oghren had been a 'surface dwarf' for over five years now and he had married and had children of his own. And while the soldiers respected their commander, they also enjoyed his company. Rarely did they drink or game or celebrate without their stout leader. Oghren had the ear and the hearts of his men. He would know what they thought.

Without pause, Oghren said, "Folks always find something to grumble at. Adopt a boy the day before you promote another elf, or invent a new tax, or decide to become friends with the King of Antiva." The dwarf laughed at his own humour a moment before sobering. "You can't make everyone happy, eh? Sometimes you need to just think of yourself. And there's nothing wrong with raising a possible heir."

Though Alistair had hoped for a more concise and pointed answer, he appreciated what Oghren tried to tell him.

Six weeks. It had been six weeks since Alistair had performed his own very private ritual, drunk the potion and made love to his wife. He'd not slept at all the night before. Rolling over, he gazed at Brenna's sleeping face. Did her cheeks seem a little rounder? Had the smudges beneath her eyes deepened? When he sensed her stirring, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, aware that she found his scrutiny curious and more than a little disturbing.

Days passed and Alistair watched. Brenna noticed.

"Why do you watch me so intently, Alistair. Will you tell me what you are thinking?"

Every woman enjoyed flattery, but even a good thing in excess could turn bitter. Alistair chose instead to skirt the truth. "I was thinking about Henric." He had been, sort of, on and off, in between daydreams of what their own child might look like, be like.

Her rose red lips curved into a beautiful smile and Alistair felt both guilt and pleasure colour his cheeks.

Continuing, before she could ask more specific questions, he said, "I asked Oghren's opinion. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, love, Felsi and I have spoken of it." Of course they had, women spoke of everything together, Alistair had learned. Oghren's wife sometimes brought her children, the young Aedan and Alistair, to the chantry for lessons. "What did Oghren advise?" Brenna asked.

"He seemed positive." He had, hadn't he?

Evenings could easily be Alistair's favourite time of day. Particularly the ones he spent alone with Brenna, in their rooms. Sometimes they played a game together, sometimes they read, and sometimes they talked. This particular evening Brenna proved to be in an amorous mood, something Alistair never objected to. He watched her undress, glad for the excuse to let his gaze linger on her body, taking in all of her curves. Did she look any thicker about the waist? Did her bosom appear fuller?

She slipped into bed beside him and as he kissed her, he slid his fingers down over the dip of her waist and over her abdomen, feeling for subtle differences his eye might not see. Brenna giggled. "You are tickling me."

Laying his palm flat across her equally flat belly, Alistair apologised with a grin. "Just making sure you are all there, love, same as before."

"Why wouldn't I be?" A frown creased her brows. "Alistair, will you tell me what is on your mind? You watch me and touch me as if you expect me to disappear. What is it you fear?"

"That I cannot give you what you want," he answered quietly, not able to meet her eyes, looking instead at his hand.

The green gaze of her eyes followed and they both looked at her belly a moment, each of them wrapped in sadness. Alistair half expected her to bring up the little orphan boy, to ask for him, but she did not, instead she drew him close and held him tightly. "You are all I want, Alistair." The right words, just the right words.

Two months. It had been two months since Alistair had performed his own very private ritual, drunk the potion and made love to his wife. He studied his own reflection this time, staring at his face in the mirror. His normally ruddy skin looked pale and he had dark smudges beneath his eyes. His lips seemed to lack colour and his eyes warmth. He found it difficult to sleep and he felt tired, defeated.

It had never been a sure thing, the ritual working, but he had naively thought that his need and desire would somehow make it so. That whatever drove the forces that made these things happen would be stirred and captured by his emotions. He had wanted it so desperately; did that not count for anything?

Depression clouded his thoughts like a fog and Alistair moved through his day, nodding at greetings, signing off on papers and listening to petitioners. When in his study he looked at the empty chairs across his desk, both Leliana and Teagan being away, taking care of their own affairs, and actually felt grateful for their absence. Teagan would see his sadness and press. Leliana would know his sadness and be helpless against it.

He decided to visit the chantry, to see Brenna and maybe Henric. She still talked of the small boy, though not over much, aware that he still seemed to be considering… things. Stepping inside the large hall that housed the classroom where Brenna spent most of her time, Alistair paused in the shadow by the door. A column obscured the entrance somewhat and he stepped behind it so that he could observe her unnoticed for a time. He didn't see her. He saw Henric and he watched the small boy as he waited for his wife to reappear.

Alistair decided that he liked the child. He liked the colour of his hair and eyes and the quiet manner in which he conducted himself. He agreed with Brenna's assessment that the boy might begin speaking one day and offer up complete and coherent opinions on everything. He merely bided his time. Children only babbled before the age of three, really.

A movement at his elbow caught his attention and Alistair turned, expecting to see a child, or perhaps one of his guards with a message. One of the sisters stood there.

"Your majesty, thank the Maker!" She had a pinched expression and her hands plucked nervously at her robe. "We just sent word to the palace!"

Alistair felt his stomach drop, the blood drain from his face and his world quickly coming to an end. "Brenna," he whispered. "What happened, where is she?"

"In the Reverend Mother's office. Come."

Brenna lay stretched out on the couch, her arms folded over her abdomen, her eyes closed, her skin and lips pale. Alistair stopped in the doorway and tried not to choke. "What happened?" he finally coughed out.

Mother Perpetua stepped forward and took his hands, her skin warmer than his, despite the coolness of her old and wrinkled skin. "Your majesty, she fainted." Thank the Maker, he'd thought… he'd thought… "Please, come sit. I have ordered some tea and a healer will attend us presently."

Brenna roused before the healer arrived. Alistair had crouched beside the couch, finally sitting on the floor despite the protests of the sisters. He'd held his wife's pale hands in his and had touched her cheeks and her forehead. He kept checking for the pulse in her throat, only partially comforted by the strong and steady beat his fingertips always found. After a few moments of this, she opened her eyes and blinked.

"Brenna," he said softly.

Rolling her head to the side, she looked at him and then frowned. "Alistair. I'm sorry…"

"Why are you apologising? No, don't sit up yet," he said as she tried to get up. "Nicholas is on his way."

"I just fainted, Alistair, I will be alright. I did not feel well this morning and so did not have much breakfast. I am a little tired."

Not well in the morning? Little appetite? Tired? And she had fainted…? Alistair felt his heart begin to pound and he squeezed her hands before helping her to sit.

"You seem pale," she continued, touching his forehead. "Perhaps we both have something? An early cold?"

Perhaps we both have something, Alistair thought again to himself, but dared not repeat the words out loud. Where was Nicholas?

The young mage finally arrived, his hands flailing and his robes flapping. He sat on the other side of Brenna, her diminutive stature making it difficult for him to treat her otherwise, and placed a hand carefully over her forehead. His lips moved and Brenna closed her eyes as he worked. Nicholas then glanced down at her abdomen. A flush swept across his face and he looked to Alistair then Brenna before asking, "May I?"

Brenna frowned, but nodded. Alistair thought his heart might leap from his chest, or into his throat, or simply stop still as he waited.

"When did you last have your courses?" Nicholas asked quietly, his voice pitched for their ears alone. His palm hovered over the middle of her dress, fingertips brushing the material and his lips moved again as he waited for Brenna's answer.

Lips pressed together, brows drawn down, Brenna considered the question. She did not look embarrassed, she looked… surprised. Then her face cleared and she looked shocked. Her eyes immediately found Alistair's and her mouth dropped open.

"Alistair!" she exclaimed softly.

He could only nod, this throat had locked closed.

Nicholas removed his hand and regarded the pair of them. He smiled. "You are with child," he announced.

Alistair couldn't stop the tears if he tried. He swept his wife into a crushing hug, then remembered her 'delicate condition' and loosened his hold. She trembled in his arms and he pulled back to kiss the tears from her cheeks. He cupped her face with his hands and whispered, "Thank you, thank you..." his words meeting the same gratitude from her.

The chantry, the quiet study, faded into the background as Alistair's world narrowed to one person and one moment. Neither he, nor Brenna noticed when everyone quietly left the room, leaving the royal couple to celebrate their news privately.

Two months. It had been two months since Alistair had performed his own very private ritual, drunk the potion and made love to his wife. It had worked. No single word could describe the emotions he felt at knowing it had worked. He held Brenna reverently in his arms as they lay down to sleep that night and gazed calmly at her face. She looked the same, just the same.

"You will make a wonderful mother, Brenna," he whispered softly.

"I won't be alone, love, I will have you. And you will be a wonderful father."

Closing his eyes, Alistair flipped the page on his mental calendar and started a new course of days. How long would it take for her belly to round? Would she become moody? When could they talk of names? Before he could continue charting the days, his mind flew free and he slept.


	3. On the Road, Part One

On the Road, Part One

The children were excited by the idea of another journey and Aedan looked fondly down at his warrior and his princess and returned their wide smiles. They knew they would be stopping in the city to see Luke and Uncle Alistair and Aunt Brenna and they knew that they would be traveling further from there. What they didn't quite understand was the concept of another home. To them, Denerim represented home. Their suite of rooms at the royal palace, the garden they played in, the classroom at the chantry they attended on occasion and the yard at Fort Drakon.

Looking at them now, Aedan wondered if taking them away from the opportunities afforded them by the city might be a bad thing. Then he remembered his own childhood and grinned. He had grown up in Highever – climbing trees, fishing off of the cliffs, swimming in the ocean and getting lost in the woods. He had had an idyllic childhood with a mother and a father, a brother, and men at arms to teach him anything he cared to learn. This he could give to his children – in Gwaren.

Relaxing his face, the crease between his brows smoothing away, the tall warrior reached down to take a small hand in each of his.

"Are we ready?"

They were, the clear and unadulterated joy on their faces warmed him. Children wore no masks, hid no expressions, they simply showed what they felt. Aedan grinned down at them and then crouched as Riordan tugged on his hand. "What is it, my little warrior?"

"Are you coming with us?"

Riordan has asked him this three times a day for the last three days. Aedan might have felt guilt over it, and he did, but it had quickly been replaced each time by the joy of being able to tell his son that yes, this time he was coming with them. That from here on out, he would always be coming with them. He hugged the boy now and kissed his hair and answered again in a firm yet gentle voice. "Yes, Rory, I am coming with you. Now, and always."

A small hand tickled at the back of his neck, then circled his throat and Aedan chuckled as Grace attempted to hug him from behind. Turning, he slipped his other arm about his daughter and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "How is my princess?"

"Happy," she answered simply.

"I feel left out!" Leliana's voice floated over their heads and a moment later she had swooped down and collected her son, picking him up and hugging him close to her chest. "I need hugs as well," she said.

Rory complied and Aedan scooped up Grace before standing, hugging her to himself in much the same fashion.

Fergus rounded the corner and stood there looking at them wistfully for a moment before stepping forward and saying jovially, "You really are the picture of happiness, Aedan, you and your family."

Aedan could only agree.

He would miss Fergus. They had always been close, as brothers. Growing up, he had idolized his older brother, adored him. He still did. Though fate had disrupted their lives and directed them on different courses, he felt they had managed to stay in touch, connected, better than most. Of course, Fergus had always been there for him and he'd been the selfish younger brother, had relied upon him to be there for him. But in retrospect, given Fergus' losses, that had been exactly what the quiet Teyrn had needed: to be there for someone.

His older brother seemed genuinely pleased with his decision to officially take on his duties as Teyrn and the pair had spent many evenings before the fire discussing policy and politics. Aedan had enjoyed the talks. His mind had come alive again in a different way. Instead of tracing maps and trying to outguess the unknown motivations of an enemy they barely understood, he had returned to the stuff he'd learned all his life, the shifts of favour and thought that governed a country. He actually felt excited by the prospect of becoming involved. He wanted to explore Alistair's strategies and examine the plans his brother, his brothers, had implemented. To his mind, though he no longer sought to protect Ferelden from the darkspawn tide, he could still work for his country; he could still protect her in another way. A way that kept him with his wife and his children.

He and Fergus had spent a final quiet hour together before dinner the night before, sitting in the Teyrn's study. It seemed so much Fergus' room now and not their father's. But the portrait of Bryce and Eleanor still hung over the mantel and the brothers had both studied it for some time after their conversation had fallen silent.

Beyond that night when Aedan had confessed all to Fergus - Grey Warden secrets, his time in Orlais - they'd not really talked much of their parents. It was a painful subject for both of them, despite the years passing. Now Aedan felt the need to reach out to his brother again, but differently. He knew Fergus would be sad to see them leave, that he liked having Castle Cousland full of family, the sounds of children and laughter. He'd like to tell his brother that they'd be back soon but given the distance between Gwaren and Highever, it wasn't likely. Not this year.

"Fergus, will you come to see us? Soon? I'll need your advice, I'm sure."

Dropping his gaze from the portrait, Fergus regarded him with a smile. "I will, little brother. Castle Cousland will be too quiet without you."

Aedan rubbed at the scar on his forehead as he wondered how to word his next comment without sounding trite. "Our father… he would be proud of you, Fergus. You make a great Teyrn."

Fergus nodded but remained quiet a moment before responding. "Thank you, Aedan." He paused, turning his glass in his fingers. "It was never set that I would… succeed him, you know. He educated both of us for the role."

"No, it would always have been you, Fergus. He just wanted me to think I could do it." Aedan had thought about this over the past few weeks as he prepared to take on his own teyrnir, properly and fully. He'd realised that in everything, his father had tried to give him confidence, as a younger son. "Because I wanted to do everything you did. But I would have been happy to stay your younger brother Fergus. When I couldn't find you after Ostagar…" he didn't want to think back to that year, not knowing anyone's future, let alone that of Highever. He changed the subject slightly. "They were good parents, weren't they? They spoiled us, but perhaps not too much."

A wide smile took Fergus' mouth briefly before he pressed his lips together and nodded. "I agree." Raising his glass to the portrait, Fergus said softly, "To mum and dad." Somehow his use of the less formal 'mum' and 'dad' made the toast more poignant and Aedan joined him, raising his own glass, echoing the simple words softly.

Now it was time to say goodbye again.

Hugs and more hugs were exchanged all 'round and Aedan barely noticed Grace clinging to his neck as he spoke quietly to knight in charge of the guard who would accompany them to Denerim. Ser Travers saw her though and after confirming their plans, reached out to chuck her beneath the chin and return the happy smile.

In the past, such smiles and happiness might have served to cover the sadness they felt at such a parting. This time it did not. A sense of purpose and excitement seemed to grip everyone gathered in the courtyard and the send off held an air of expectation. Aedan hugged his brother tightly and they reiterated their promises to write more often, to visit more often, to see each other in Denerim or Gwaren… more often.

The first five days of their journey passed swiftly and effortlessly with all members of the party quickly settling into a routine. They could only walk as fast as the ox that pulled their cart, but no one seemed to mind the sedate pace. They did not march to war, or to a Landsmeet, they simply traveled, and the relaxed atmosphere permeated everything they did.

The children could ride in the cart at any time, and Aedan even rode with them on occasion, as did Leliana, not so much to rest their legs as to just spend time together, playing games and exchanging stories. As often as he could manage it, however, Riordan marched alongside his father.

Sometimes they held hands and sometimes they simply walked together. Aedan would look down to see the serious little boy keeping pace with him and a grin would overtake his face, one quickly banished if the boy looked up. Rory did not seem to take kindly to indulgent grins when trying to be serious. Of course, this often caused Aedan to smile more widely and the giggles from Leliana – at his back or to his side – never helped as he fought to maintain a respectful demeanor for his young warrior.

The nights stayed clear, with skies full of stars and the four Couslands laid on their backs together, without a tent, and listened to Leliana tell stories.

The sixth day dawned grey and dreary and all predicted their journey would be cut short by rain. It was, the sky opening and spilling forth sheets of water that quickly drenched all of them. They were between towns and had to seek what cover they could beneath a copse of trees, tarps hastily slung from branches, fires set and tents quickly erected in the damp spaces between. A somnolent mood gripped the party, the four Couslands and their four guards seemed happy to take turns napping or merely sitting before the fire, staring dreamily into the subdued flames.

Aedan found he did not mind the restful afternoon. They were in no hurry and no fever gripped him and drove him forward. In fact, he thought to himself as he indulged in the afternoon's most strenuous activity, that of gathering more firewood that was not soaked through, he would not complain if it rained the next day.

It did and by the evening, everyone was restless. The children were cranky, Leliana looked tired, despite the hours of napping and slumber and the guards no longer played friendly matches of cards. In fact, it seemed that everyone had tired of everyone else.

Had the rain been lighter, they might have pressed forward, but it seemed every time the clouds parted, enticing them from beneath the trees, a gust of wind would scuttle another grey mass across the sky, clouds heavy with more rain that needed to fall as soon as they settled over the forest.

"It's like a weird spell," Aedan commented idly to Leliana as he peered through the ever present grey gloom. It could be morning or evening, he almost felt as if he'd lost track of time.

His wife smiled at him and he saw the tiredness in her face. The effort of keeping the children entertained and happy sapped him of energy too. They each had one in their lap now and the small heads were buried against chests and soft snores rose above the steady drum of rain atop the canvas tarp stretched above their heads. Despite the cover, everything felt wet, smelt wet, was wet.

"It is," she replied after a pause. "Perhaps I will make up a story about it. Something to pass the time."

Grace stirred in her lap then and started muttering.

"They're coming," she said.

The small girl often spoke in her sleep. Aedan had not noticed it before they'd begun traveling together, but Leliana mentioned she had often done so in Denerim.

"Children do that," she said. With a grin she had nodded towards him, "You do it also."

"I do?"

"Yes, you tell me all your secrets," she teased.

"I don't have any secrets!"

"Well of course not, you tell them all to me in your sleep."

Aedan had laughed and kissed her of course, not worried about anything he might have said in his sleep. He'd told her the truth. He had no secrets, not anymore and not from her.

Now he glanced at Leliana over Grace's head. "She said that yesterday too, and this morning."

His wife nodded soberly. Ever since the incident at Fort Drakon, the Mage, the children dreaming of Aedan in Orlais and Luke underground… ever since Cian and Morrigan had returned to their lives, they had begun listening to what Grace said in her sleep.

While Riordan's dreams were easy to interpret, the young boy seemed to share a bond with his half brother, Cian, Grace's often were not. She seemed to dream independently of her brother and reported events with sometimes startling accuracy. Small things. The first instance any of them could recall would be Luke's return to Fort Drakon. The second had occurred in Highever their first month there. She had announced that one of the fishing vessels would be returning early. An odd thing for a young girl to say, and a fantasy indulged until _The Sea Devil_ had returned that evening, a week ahead of schedule. The crew had fallen ill and the dock master had quarantined the ship until a healer could be dispatched to investigate.

The third they were not sure about. Again it had been a reference to something unwell and this stirred an uneasiness in Aedan's gut. Grace had come to their room before dawn and had crept between them, her cold hands and feet pulling him and Leliana from deep slumber. She has refused cuddles and had simply stated, "The cow is sick."

Farmer Jensen's cow did turn out to be sick, but they could not pin point if she'd heard it in the marketplace or dreamed it. Either way, it had given them cause for concern.

Would 'they' be another sick creature? Aedan couldn't begin to guess, but her words did serve to spur him to action. They would walk on the next day regardless of the rain, staying beneath the copse of trees would not keep them dry much longer and illness could easily overtake any one of them if they stayed damp too long.

'They' came that night. Ghouls. Aedan awoke in a lather of sweat, and almost forgotten sickness curdling his gut and raising the hair along the back of his neck. At first he wondered if he'd eaten something off, and then he recognised it, the taint.

Swallowing convulsively, Aedan sat up and shook Leliana awake beside him. Then he yelled, a war cry coming unbidden from his lips as instinct took hold of him. That he had awoken the children did not matter, Aedan focused immediately on finding his blades, his sword and dagger, taking them in his hands and moving from the tent.

His cry had done what it needed to do, the two sentries had been alerted and the other two guards had woken and were donning the rest of their armour and snatching up their arms.

"My lord!" Ser Travers called and Aedan turned to find the man approaching with his own armour, the deep midnight blue and silvered Warden Commander set. Over the sickness of the taint, Aedan felt something else, almost a fear of his own armour, as if putting it on would cause him to assume an identity he'd rather forget. But to fight unarmoured if he had time to do otherwise, would be folly. He had time.

Dropping his blades, Aedan hastily donned his armour, noting the odd, yet familiar feel of each piece as he strapped it on. Leliana helped, her own leathers more easily slipped into.

Glancing at her, he pleaded with his eyes, then his voice, "Leli…"

"I will stay with the children."

He nodded. Aedan knew his wife as capable as he in a fight; he knew she could hold her own. That did not change the fact that he feared for her, especially now, after all they had been through together.

Taking up his sword and dagger once more, Aedan glanced at his men, three Highever guardsmen and one knight. They all met his eyes and he saw that they were ready. No words needed to be exchanged. Nodding towards the distance, he simply said, "Over there."

The ghouls were mindless but not many, dark and shuffling shapes with blackened skin that made them hard to distinguish in the weak moonlight. The warriors were upon them before the small crowd of beings had time to organize, but when Ser Travers bashed the first aside with his shield, they seemed to form a tight knit group and surge together.

Aedan felt his sword rise out of instinct and he thanked the Maker for it, but the prayer died on his lips as the blade seemed to hang suspended in the air before him. He had frozen. As the sounds of battle met rose around him, Aedan struggled with instinct, memory and thought. His pause lasted only a moment, enough time for him to draw a breath, but it shook him. Then his sword fell, slicing down and across through the shoulder of the ghoul before him. A messy and clumsy blow. Had he not hesitated, his sharp blade might have sliced cleanly through the neck leaving a headless body to drop away from his sword. Now he had to wrench his weapon free pulling gore and blood with it and thrust out with his dagger at the same time, piercing the chest, going for the heart. Raising his boot, he pushed the body from his blades and stepped over it, placing his next strike more carefully and precisely. He stopped thinking and allowed his training and the instinct that had kept him alive these past six years to take over.

The battle was short and none of his men seemed to take injury. The ghouls did fight back, with their hands and an occasional dagger. More often they simply hurled themselves bodily at one of the warriors in an attempt to knock them off balance. Even an armoured foe was at a disadvantage on his back.

Before Aedan could assess the situation, check in with Ser Travers, an arrow whistled past his ear, stirring the damp air before plunging into a tree behind him with a thunk and quiet waver. Instinct took over once again and he moved to the same side as the arrow and towards its source rather than away and to the other side as expected. Sure enough, a second arrow flew well wide of him before plinking off the shoulder armour of one of the guards.

Letting out another war cry, Aedan rallied his men and pelted towards the dense thicket. He side stepped as he ran, moving into and out of the path of arrows as unpredictably as he could. The moonlight barely illuminated the ground and the footing proved treacherous. He tripped once and a shaft grazed his shoulder. Steadying himself, Aedan tried to divide his attention between the ground, the archers and his men. He heard arrows meet metal behind him, but no hiss of breath or cut off cries. Raising his blade, he cut through the undergrowth before pushing through, hearing sounds of retreat to his right. Quickly he directed Ser Travers and two guards to head left while he took the remaining guard with himself. Given the number of arrows, he guessed there had been two archers. They were not ghouls or darkspawn, he sensed no taint. They would not be alone. He did not have time to wonder if they colluded with or drove the ghouls, the deep shadows and scarce light obscuring the forest floor took all of his attention.

They caught one of the bandits with lying on the ground, his bow cast aside as he frantically sought to pull a dagger from his back. Looking down, Aedan saw that he'd caught his ankle between a downed tree and a rock. He could easily imagine the accident, the damp ground and absence of light played havoc with all of their footing. He stood there a moment, a quizzical expression on his face as he wondered why did not feel the rage, the urge to kill this man outright. The bandit obviously expected such action, he prepared to arm himself. Or…

The man slit his own throat.

"No!" Aedan dropped his sword and dropped to the ground reaching out too late to pull the dagger away from the bandit's neck. Too late he grasped at the hilt, his hands slipping in blood, the dark fluid spurting thickly from the gaping wound. Wresting the dagger from the man's already limp fingers, Aedan tossed it aside, and then pressed his hands uselessly over the gash, wincing as the warm blood welled between his fingers and continued to flow, then slowed, then stopped.

Aedan rocked back on his heels, pulling his sticky hands away from the lifeless bandit, and closed his eyes. He didn't want to look at the blood, the dead face, the wound. He didn't want to feel the blood on his hands. He didn't want to witness death. He had been able to detach himself from the grey and hairless corpses of the ghouls, but this was a man. His stomach churned and bitter bile burned the back of this throat. Swallowing convulsively, he fought against the rise of his guts, then realised he couldn't and leaned over to the side and threw up, heedless of the surprised look on the guard's face.

Ser Travers and his men returned to the clearing sometime later. They had not caught up with the other archer, but they did report that they felt they had been following two men, not just one. So there had been three, at least.

Aedan had carried the dead archer back to the scene of the first battle and laid him to rest with the bodies of the ghouls. Whether or not they had been associated in life, they would travel together in death.

Burning the bodies did not prove easy given the dampness of the clearing and the wet wood all around. The flames fizzed and curled and spattered for a long time before catching the flesh and drier garments. Then a foul stench hung in the air, permeating the dank atmosphere and drifting in curls of bitter smoke. Aedan stood watching the pyre in a state somewhere between Ferelden and the nothingness.

A hand gripped his arm and Aedan turned to find Leliana standing beside him, her face lit by the flickering light of the flames. A face streaked with… blood? Eyes widening in alarm, he turned and gripped her upper arms, forgetting that his own hands were covered in dried blood and filth. He shook his head, trying to dispel the numbness that beckoned and focused on his wife. "Leli, the children…!"

"Are well," she answered immediately and turned her head.

Following the direction of her gaze, Aedan saw his warrior and his princess standing hand in hand a short distance away. Both of them stared at the fire.

"They should not see this," he said, his voice sounding odd to his ears. Letting go of Leliana, he strode towards his children and crouched down before them, as if his bulk could block the fire from their view. He forgot that his armour was streaked with gore and blood and the stench of the taint, grisly reminders of what burned behind him.

Leliana squatted beside him. "It is too late, Aedan, they have seen this and more." A sad and wistful tone coloured her words and Aedan turned to her, raising his hand and stroking his thumb across her cheek. "Leli… is this blood?"

She nodded. "Bandits entered the clearing after your left. Two men. I…" Leliana did not have to finish the sentence. She had killed them. Had the children had watched?

"Did they see? Oh, no… Leli?" Dizziness caught him as Thedas tried to spin from his grasp and Aedan blinked against it. Not now, not now! He would not abandon his family now!

Leliana shook her head, but given the sad weight behind her eyes, he couldn't tell if she shook her head in denial or confirmation. He put his arms about his family and pulled them to himself. He set his jaw and ground his teeth and struggled with fear and anger and love. He closed his eyes and the numbness beckoned and he fought it, a low growl sounding deep in his throat.


	4. On the Road, Part Two

On the Road, Part Two

Aedan clung to his family as if afraid they might disappear. Leliana understood his fear, she had done the same earlier, though she had paused to strip off her bloody gauntlets before drawing her children into her arms, running her hands over their heads and down their backs, checking for blood, wounds, arrows, anything horrible before she allowed herself to relax and hug them.

After Aedan had left the clearing she ushered the two small children back into the tent and told them to stay there. She then crouched in the opening and held still. Leliana could not sense the taint as Aedan did, but she still had many years training in the more covert arts. If something or someone approached the camp, she would be aware them in time to act, or so she hoped. For a while she listened to the sounds of Aedan and the guards running in the direction of the enemy. If they were darkspawn, it would be a small band. Odd groups still cropped up now and again, particularly now that the Wardens relentlessly drove them from hiding. Normally she might smell the darkspawn, if they were close enough. She drew a small amount of reassurance from the lack of stench in the air.

A soft rustle caught her attention. It almost sounded like the breeze stirring leaves at the top of the trees, but lower, towards the ground where the wind could not reach without gusting through the camp. Nothing else moved. Leliana cloaked herself in shadow, using the darkness and the opening of the tent to wrap herself in nothingness, fading from few. A soft whimper sounded behind her followed by an even softer "Shh." Rory comforting Grace.

Her children had seen her embrace the shadow before; she did it as a game, often, both to expose them to the skill and for their amusement. But not usually in the dark, at camp, when even small children could feel the tension in the air.

No other sounds broke the silence, but Leliana felt them approach. Two rogues, one forward, one stopping to lurk within the trees. A blade wielder and an archer, she deduced from the positioning. She could not be sure there were two, but she knew more than one shadow sought to flit through the camp. Given that one might be an archer, she needed to move herself away from the tent. A stray arrow… her mind could not complete the thought. Anxiety had sweat beading her forehead and creeping down her back, despite the cool night and Leliana took a second, not enough time but all she had, to compose herself. She could not be emotional now; she needed to be a bard.

Rising to her feet, Leliana drew the shadow with her as she moved away from the tent, skirted the far side of the campfire, not putting herself between the approaching rogues and the light, and stopped on the outskirts of the area they had occupied for the last two days. She hoped, she prayed, that the children might think her still in the doorway of the tent. That they would obey and stay put, that they would not forget the small lessons she had tried to teach them already.

A dark shape flickered past her peripheral vision and Leliana slowly reached to remove her twin daggers from their sheaths, the well oiled blades slipping soundlessly from soft leather. The shape moved to one of the guard's tents first, paused, then moved on. Ignoring the archer for the time being, the lurking figure would need to see a target in order to launch an arrow, Leliana stalked the rogue within the camp. Her feet sought the gaps between the wet and mulched leaves, the small pebbles and brittle twigs as if she'd been born in the forest. Toes soundlessly scuffed the ground first, moving distractions aside, then the ball of her foot rolled down within the supple leather boots she wore. Her heel barely touched before she moved forward again, silent, graceful.

The rogue paused longer by the second tent and Leliana knew he heard nothing within – he sensed her, stalking him. She stopped. After a moment, he moved on towards the third tent. Her tent, the one containing her children. Leliana moved as quickly as she could without breaking stealth, her daggers out to each side of her for balance and poised to strike. Before the rogue could even touch her tent, she struck, not to kill, a numbing blow to the side of the head delivered with hilt of her main hand dagger. The figure dropped soundlessly to the ground.

Though she resumed stealth as quickly as possible, the archer had its mark and immediately an arrow shot past, missing by a hair's breadth. Leliana dropped stealth before moving away from the children's tent, intending to draw fire in the opposite direction. As soon as she judged herself far enough away and at the right angle, she cloaked herself in shadow once more and headed towards the archer, side stepping in an erratic pattern, moving as swiftly as she dared while trying to maintain her stealth and silence. Panic and fear for her children and her husband began to erode her calm. Not now, she told herself, not now.

She had dealt with the aftermath of Val Royeaux better than Aedan had but knew her emotions still hung in a delicate balance. She did not use her weapons and her talents regularly anymore and after their recent escape from Marjolaine hoped she would not have to again, not for a while, if ever. She still trained, to keep Aedan company and for her own fitness, but training rarely included this element, the fear, the memories, the nervous sweat, or her children huddled together in a dark tent.

She slipped, a lack of concentration and rising anxiety causing her foot to catch on the sharp edge of a rock setting off a series of steps that had her avoiding a patch of leaves in favour of a flat stone that then proved to be covered in moss. An arrow grazed her shoulder armour and Leliana fought the urge to close her eyes, to wince. Instead she advanced swiftly, dropping all pretence of stealth in favour of speed. The archer left his retreat too late. She flew forward, daggers extended, not wanting to take a life, but willing to. The man threw his bow aside, reached for a dagger, and succeeded in parrying her first strike. She followed up with a thrust to his chest which he swept aside with his other arm, and she felt her blade slide across leather and into skin as it was cast out wide. Bracing herself, she kicked out at her opponent, her boot catching him in the lower abdomen and pushing him back. Leliana immediately followed him back, knocking aside his dagger as he drove it up and out, an intended lethal strike. [i]Maker forgive me, he will kill me otherwise,[/i] she whispered to herself as she drew her main hand weapon across his throat, the white flesh exposed by the backward tilt of his head. She felt the blood spray out, droplets catching her cheek and she quickly turned her head to avoid more.

Turning on her heel as she backed away, Leliana tore her gaze from the corpse and ran back to the camp, sheathing one of her daggers, holding the other before her. The bandit she had incapacitated still lay in a heap before her tent. Dropping to her hands and knees, Leliana crawled forward, sticking her head through the flap. There they were, her two children, her warrior and her princess still clinging to one another. In the soft glow of the campfire, she could see their eyes were wide and frightened. She smiled, a tremulous effort.

"I am here, it is alright now," she whispered.

And then it wasn't. Cool steel touched her throat at the same time as a hand grasped her shoulder. Leliana wanted to cry out in anger, at herself – she had let her guard down. Grace made a sound, a soft cry and Rory failed to comfort his sister as his eyes rounded further at the sight of his mother being restrained with a dagger at her throat.

"If you're quiet, I won't kill you. We only want the Warden." The voice whispered low and deep and Leliana felt the words move the hair about her ear. "Drop the dagger."

Dropping the dagger, Leliana let silence be her only other response as a hundred questions tumbled through her mind. Who wanted Aedan, why did they want him? Would they ransom her or wait for him? What of her children…

This man might have information they could use, if she could get away from him without killing him she would try. But as a mother, her children had to come first. She let herself begin to tremble, let the pent up adrenaline seep from her muscles, simultaneously relaxing them and perhaps convincing the man behind her of her fright and supposed compliance. When the hand gripping her shoulder shifted slightly, his fingers flexing, she acted. Thrusting her head backwards, she rammed his nose, feeling the sickening crunch behind her as pain lanced through the back of her skull. His blade had nicked her throat as she'd wound up for the backward blow and she could feel the reassuringly slow trickle of her own blood. Not a deep wound. Next she turned and thrust and elbow backwards while she brought her other arm up to dislodge the arm now hooked about her neck.

"Ugh, bit…" the man tried to say, but the rest of it turned into a whoosh of air as her elbow met his gut.

Reaching for the dagger she'd dropped, Leliana whirled in time to find the man scrabbling back from her. She could see from his eyes that he intended to run. She flew after him, throwing herself at him and carrying him to the ground beneath her weight. They rolled in the dirt struggling to get their daggers up. His expression took on the fear and rage of a pinned creature and Leliana knew then she'd have to kill him. He would kill her to get free otherwise, or injure her badly in his attempt, and then no one would be there to look after Rory and Grace. Sacrificing grace for momentum, she threw her weight onto his dagger arm and then lifted her own weapon high and thrust down, feeling the blade pierce leather, slip through, skim past a rib and enter his chest. Leaving the dagger buried hilt deep in the man, she rolled off of him, wanting to avoid the blood, the mess, the sight of life leaving his eyes.

Scrambling to her feet, Leliana ran to the tent and stripped off her gloves, the bloody leather fingerless gloves, wiped her hands hastily on her legs and then flung her arms around her son and daughter. "Rory, Gracie."

Later, huddled in the circle of arms, her children and her husband, Leliana felt the pull, what Aedan might describe as the nothingness, the temptation to close her eyes and drift away from the awful landscape. She knew it to be the fatigue common after battle and she blinked it aside and instead told Aedan what had transpired at the camp.

"They were after you, Aedan. They were after you," she whispered finally.

He kissed her forehead. "I am here, I am safe." He told her he loved her and thanked her for doing what she would always do, watching over the children. She did not take offense at his gratitude; she knew what he meant by it and she only hugged him harder, grateful for the feel of his warm strength beside her.

-=0=-

The party reached an inn early the next afternoon and Aedan experienced an inordinate amount of gratitude at the news that the largest suite stood unoccupied and ready to accommodate his family. After securing rooms for his men, everyone parted ways for the same reason. Despite the constant drenching over the last three days, they all wanted to bathe.

Leliana bathed the children first before settling them into their cot while the chambermaid refreshed the tub for them. Aedan joined his wife in her bath. Though his gaze lingered on her lithe form, he made no overtures; he simply washed himself tiredly, then drew her against him and hugged her, before leaning his head back over the side of the tub and closing his eyes. He had fought to stay in Thedas since the early hours of the morning. He tried to occupy his mind with simple tasks – returning to camp, removing more bodies, searching them for clues, burning them. His men broke down the tents and folded away the damp tarps and they had loaded the wagon and set off in the misted rain that had returned with the dawn. Placing one foot in front of the other, he walked beside the wagon where the children rode and napped and tried to talk with Leliana, Ser Travers, the guards, mindless conversations, anything to keep him rooted in the present and on the road.

In the past he had walked off his anger and his rage, he had reveled in the silence of the road and a stride that swallowed the miles. The quiet exercise seemed his enemy now.

"Aedan?"

"Mm…"

"Don't fall asleep in the tub, I cannot carry you to the bed," Leliana whispered and though her voice sounded as tired as his, he detected something else.

"Mm," he answered and opened his eyes, rolling his head over to look at his wife.

The temptation to drift still beckoned and he knew that this time it would be sleep, harmless sleep, not escaping into the numbness. But still he fought to stay in Thedas, this time for Leliana. He wanted to make sure she was alright. She'd had to kill two men, one in front of her children. While no stranger to death, and she had confessed a certain pleasure in her previous profession during the Blight – the thrill of the hunt and the chase – she had changed much since. No one he knew enjoyed killing, but Leliana's past made it particularly distasteful to her, harder in a way. Of course, there was also their recent experience in Val Royeaux. She'd had to make choices that had nearly broken her spirit.

Hauling himself out of the tub, Aedan held out a towel for her and as she stepped into it, he bundled her within the soft folds of cotton and hugged her tightly. They slipped into clean night clothes and between clean sheets. Aedan almost didn't dare put his head on the pillow, he wanted to let go so badly. Instead he pulled Leliana close and whispered to her.

"Are you alright, Leli?"

Her head moved against his chest in a tentative nod and then stopped and he heard a softly muffled, "No. Not really."

"Me telling you that you made the only possible choice doesn't help, does it?"

A gentle shake of the head.

"Oh, Leli." He kissed the top of her head. "I will tell you that I understand then, and that… I am here for you." How many times had she said that to him? Why did it not feel like enough in return?

She seemed to snuggle closer, maybe it was enough.

Quietly, he tried something else. "I'm sorry. I should have left a guard at the camp with you," He hadn't because he'd not suspected anything but darkspawn or ghouls, he'd _felt_ them and they'd been in the other directions. Human's did not travel with or collude with the tainted… But he did not want to have that conversation with her now. He and Ser Travers had touched on it, briefly, during the walk that morning, the coincidence, or lack of it, in the timing of the bandits and the ghouls. None of this lessened his guilt. "I'm sorry," he said again, more softly.

"How could you have known? You felt the taint... I should have been safe." Leliana lifted her face from his chest and he kissed her forehead. Her eyes closed briefly and when they opened again, they were filled with sadness. "I was so frightened for the children, Aedan," her voice caught.

Aedan stroked her back gently and let out a soft sigh. Despite his fears, he was glad he could be the strong one for a change, the one to comfort and reassure. "But you kept them from harm," he said. He kept his voice calm, inside he felt anything but. His children had been in danger and they'd had to see things he'd rather they had not. The repercussions of these events would be unpredictable.

"They are just children, their world should be safe, Aedan! The complications of our lives should not affect them."

He didn't realise Leliana had started crying until she sniffed, he'd thought she trembled from fatigue or fear or both. "Oh, Leli," he said and raised her wet face. The sight of tears in her blue eyes wrenched his heart. She so rarely cried. Stroking the hair away from her face he continued speaking in soothing tones. "They are safe. I won't leave you again. I'm sorry." Then he simply held her until she calmed.

It wouldn't always be like this, would it? Looking over his shoulder? Hadn't he fought for years to prevent incidents like this – families being threatened by the tainted? Aedan could feel stirrings of the rage trying to take hold and he quenched it. His anger could serve no purpose here, just as retreating into nothingness helped no one. He had made a choice, to stay with his family and that is what he would do.

Aedan didn't let himself fall asleep until after Leliana had. He held her until her tears dried and her breath became even. They exchanged no more words, they didn't have to. She knew he was there with her, for her, really there, and that was more important than anything he could say.


	5. A Knight In Shining Armour

_This is the first time I've written from Fergus's point of view. He felt like a calmer Aedan. ;) I hope everyone enjoys the little story I've created for him to weave through the other Interludes.  
_

* * *

A Knight in Shining Armour

Fergus lingered at the gates longer than necessary. He watched his brother's family move down the road until they dwindled into the distance, the horizon finally swallowing them. He felt somewhat as if his heart went with them.

The quiet Teyrn well remembered the day Aedan had been born. He'd hoped for a brother, someone to not only relieve the boredom of his days, but to share his imagination and just be… younger. The eight year old boy looked forward to being able to teach instead of being taught, and to shepherding someone through what he perceived as the pitfalls of childhood. Fergus made no secret of the fact he wished for a boy, just as his mother did not seek to hide her longing for a girl. His father expressed no preference other than a healthy child and easy birth. All had gone well and that evening he'd been invited to meet his younger sibling.

"What is it, what is it?" he'd asked, bouncing upon his toes.

"'It' is a baby, Fergus," his father answered, a smile hovering about his mouth, relieving the tired lines about his face. Childbirth in Ferelden was always a risky thing…

Though caught by the urge to stamp his foot and demand to know if he had a brother or a sister, Fergus instead quickened his step, he'd find out soon enough. His father's long stride outmatched his and the man reached the door first, opened it, then stood aside allowing his eldest to enter before him.

Fergus looked over toward the bed and saw his mother looking pale but well and happy, so very happy. He never forgot the look on her face. He hoped she'd looked like that when he'd been born and of course he'd been told she had. Eleanor loved both her children equally. But that day he interpreted her look differently. His mother looked so radiantly happy because she had her heart's desire, a daughter, cradled within her arms. He could recall how his hopes had fallen as a physical sensation, something within in him dropping towards his boots. But as a polite young boy he'd worked to keep a smile on his face and stepped forward anyway to greet the newest Cousland.

Leaning over the edge of the bed, he took a look at the wrinkled and red face nestled against amongst soft folds of blanket. Even then, the babe had had a high brow framed with wisps of dark hair and a somewhat angular nose. Eyes of intense blue opened to regard him.

"It doesn't look like a girl," Fergus said wonderingly. It didn't, not at all. Though he supposed babies often looked odd.

His mother chuckled softly and reached over to move a wayward lock of hair from his own face and stroked his cheek before securing the blanket about her new babe. "That's because he's not. Fergus, this is your new brother, Aedan."

"Greetings, Aedan," he said somberly, his quiet voice belying the joy he felt within.

Having a younger brother had not been exactly as he'd envisaged. While he did get the opportunity to teach and share, the shepherding part was often a little overwhelming. Aedan followed him _everywhere_. The young Fergus came to miss his solitude and crave quiet times, not that his younger brother was an excessively noisy child, but he always seemed to radiate energy, as if at any moment he could spring into action – which he often did, alarming anyone not attuned to his odd restlessness.

Aedan's devotion to his older brother had always been obvious, however. Always. Sometimes it had been almost embarrassing to look over and catch those cool blue eyes gazing so intently at him, as if he were the most interesting and wonderful thing in all of Thedas.

Fergus smiled now at the memory of their childhood together. Even now that they were grown up, Aedan still have him that look now and again and he treasured it. He didn't feel so much like the older anymore, they were simply brothers. But that look always reminded him.

Then there were the other moods he'd catch in Aedan's eyes, particularly since the Blight.

He did and did not envy Aedan, having heard his brother's secrets and what it meant to be a Grey Warden. Fergus pitied his brother the shortened span of his life, the taint in his blood, the calling to a cause he'd not chosen for himself. Besides that, Aedan's recent trials in Orlais had horrified the quiet Teyrn. He winced in memory of the scars across his brother's back and shoulders. Fergus had his own scars, from wounds sustained in the Korcari Wilds, during the battle to retake Highever and the siege of Denerim. He'd seen more bloodshed and battle in his lifetime than he'd ever thought he might, but Aedan had seen more. His once quiet and gentle younger brother had seen true darkness.

Yet he had somehow managed to find a wife and collect a family. He had two sons and a daughter. Fergus adored his nephews and niece; he didn't care that only one of them carried Cousland blood. For a long time he'd found it hard to look at Riordan and not see Oren. Now he could look at the small dark haired boy and see a young Aedan and he would smile at that serious little face. Just as he could now think of Oren and though he felt the loss of his son, keenly, he could smile at the memory of the good times.

Fergus tried to hold on to the better memories of his wife also, not the bittersweet ones – the regrets. He could never quite decide if it better or worse that he'd not been there to witness Howe's betrayal and the deaths of all who were dear to him. He had left Castle Cousland that evening with grim expression, knowing he marched to war, but inside his heart had been light. Highever lay well north of Ostagar, his family would be safe…

A frown creased his brow and Fergus realised he could no longer see anyone along the road, not even a swirl of dust marked their wake. Silence, heavy but for the occasional bird call and whisper of wind seemed to blanket the world and Fergus blinked against his melancholy and silently thanked the Maker for the family that remained. His brother and Leliana – the sister he'd never had, his nephews and niece.

Turning to regard the stone walls of Castle Cousland, Fergus let out a soft sigh. Though the place teemed with people, servants and armsmen, it seemed to echo in the absence of children's laughter, Aedan's energy and Leliana's light.

Continuing to turn, he let his gaze move across the formal gardens set outside the wall and to the forest beyond. The solitude of the trees beckoned. He would be alone in the castle despite being surrounded by people. The forest held true silence but for the quiet rustlings of animals, it was meant to be peaceful. If he craved noise afterwards, he could follow the path to the cliffs and listen to the crash of the surf below.

He set off across the short grass, skirted the trees dotted about the edge of the garden, and passed into the cool shelter of the forest. As he progressed between the solid trunks sounds caught his attention. The whisper of the wind across the tops of the trees, birds calling and squirrels chittering. A distant knock might be a woodpecker and the sudden rustles would be chipmunks or rabbits darting out of his path. The smell of the forest floor rose to meet him, mulched leaves, brown pine needles and the distinctive odor of mud. The combined scents carried him back to childhood once more. He and Aedan had often adventured in the forest – slaying mythical dragons, taking their lunch to the river and pretending they were on a long journey, climbing trees to act as lookouts and the unfortunate incident when they had tried to light a fire. A chuckle tickled past Fergus's lips as he recalled the pair of them flapping their hands about as the small sapling near their 'fire pit' had suddenly burst into flames. Fortunately, they'd been close to the river and had their fishing bucket with them. Bryce Cousland was a forgiving man, but had they burned down an entire forest, well…

Of their own accord, his legs carried him towards the river and Fergus's faint smile widened as the ripple chuckle of water reached his ears. The rocks along the bank diverted the course of the river in many places, causing frequent rapids and unpredictable pools of deeper water. Stepping out onto one of the rocks, he looked downstream to the widest part of the river where the water looked deceptively smooth. The current moved swiftly there – Aedan had almost drowned there. Looking upstream, he saw the deeper pool where he and Aedan liked to swim most often. He'd broken his brother's nose there, completely by accident. A wince crossed his features as he remembered the sharp crack and the immediate gush of blood as his elbow caught Aedan's face in the midst of their rambunctious play.

Fergus sat down on the rock and shook his head softly, a smile winning over his mouth. Breaking his brother's nose wasn't a particularly treasured memory, but he remembered that afterwards Aedan had been so proud of the bump, the small imperfection on his nose.

"It makes me look interesting!" he said. "And more like an adventurer!"

Of course, Fergus had had to retort with something like, "You look interesting enough with that long nose and those pale eyes. You were supposed to be a girl you know, it's a good thing you weren't!"

And a playful scuffle had ensued and then they'd trekked through the forest again, always returning, despite the mishaps, continuing their adventures, proudly displaying their scars.

After resting on the rock briefly, Fergus pushed to his feet. He felt more centered than he had before, restored. His memories of the past had soothed him. He didn't feel like returning to the castle just yet though, so he decided to follow the river upstream for a while.

Upstream lay the source of the river, or where it entered Cousland lands. A series of caves and fissures gathered about another rocky cliff that resembled a cut off hillside, as if part of it had been sliced away and the river had gushed forth from the wound.

Fergus wandered slowly upstream, following his memories once again. Instead of listening to the thunder of surf against the cliffs, he thought he might duck his head into some of the caves he and Aedan had explored as boys. They had walked out here together recently, a couple of weeks before, but had not made it far upstream. Instead they'd cast lazy lines into the river and had napped upon the bank, both of them losing their bait, neither of them minding in the slightest. The deepest their conversation had dwelled was what Nan might serve for dinner that night. It wouldn't be fish…

The ground rose gently as he approached the hills and the river narrowed and quieted, though he could faintly hear the rush and hiss ahead where the water fell from the rock in a short fall into a shallow pool that then spilled into the river.

"Crap…"

Fergus stopped at the faint sound and turned his head about looking for the source. Had someone actually spoken or had it been his imagination…

"Maker damn it all to oblivion!"

Not his imagination then.

"Hello?" he called.

"Hello?" she answered. It sounded like a she…?

Fergus walked towards the hillside, thinking the voice had come from over there. The forest thinned as angled away from the river and towards the first rise of rock that seemed to have tumbled from the cliff. The sound of their voices seemed to have stilled the wildlife temporarily and Fergus called out again to pinpoint her location. "Are you alright? Do you require aid?" The swearing could mean anything.

"Yes, no! Wait… don't come too close…" her voice trailed off, somewhat muffled and Fergus peered curiously at the ground. It almost sounded as if… "You might slip… sinkhole…"

Stopping in his tracks, Fergus drew in a sharp breath as he realised what must have happened. With the caves spreading beneath the hillside and under the forest, sometimes the ground gave way beneath the feet. Normally a narrow fissure of chimney was the cause, something to catch the ankle. He'd twisted his own in that fashion out here before. But it sounded as if the woman had found a much larger hole. He scanned the ground before him, it looked innocuous enough.

"Call out again," he prompted. "So I know where you are."

"Down here," she called, confirming that she was indeed below the ground and somewhere off to his left.

Fergus stepped gingerly forward. "Right, I'm heading over there, are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. Be careful!" the voice admonished.

A flash of irritation had him frowning as he picked his way carefully amongst the boulders and underbrush strewn across the ground, the clearing resembling an unkempt field. His boot hit a patch of mulched leaves and Fergus flailed his arms to keep his balance as he slipped, but righted himself before hitting the ground.

"Are you there?" she called.

"Here," he answered, followed by an exclamation, "Argh!" as his boot then decided, on its own of course, to become lodged in one of the fissures he'd hoped to avoid. A twinge of pain shot through his ankle. Fergus blew out a breath and gingerly pulled against his boot.

"What happened? I told you to be careful!"

"I am being careful!" Fergus bit his lip over the irritation in his voice. "I just caught my boot," he grunted a little as he pulled it from the fissure, "and now I am fine." He took another step and winced as his ankle failed to hold his weight, buckled and though he reached out his hands met nothing but air and he fell. Maker's breath.

"That does _not_ sound fine…"

Squeezing both his eyes and his lips shut, the eyes in frustration, lips over a yelp of pain, Fergus concentrated in letting his breath out slowly. "I, er," he rolled over, his brow creasing as rocks bit into his ribs and legs in passing, "the footing is somewhat precarious," he finally admitted. Instead of gaining his feet, Fergus crawled forward on his hands and knees. He could see the opening ahead, a dark shadow between a large boulder and a smooth patch of ground. Inching forward, carefully, he peeked over the lip of the hole. "Hello?"

He couldn't really see far into the darkness, which meant the hole was deep.

"Hello," she answered. "Are you being…"

"Careful? Yes." Fergus gritted his teeth. "I cannot see you, is the hole very deep? How did you not get injured?"

Splashing answered his question. He could just make out a ripple below as light filtered downward, and then a shadowed face peered from one side. "I fell into the water. I'm on a shelf now."

Fergus nodded, then realised she'd likely not be able to see the gesture. "Right. Let me think a moment on how to get you out of there." He shuffled back from the edge and sat back on his heels.

"Just go get someone to help," the voice in the hole commanded.

Brows raised Fergus bit his lips together again, this time over a bark of laughter. Did she realise she'd just ordered the Teyrn to go for help? Though he did not expect the townspeople or his guards and knights to bow and scrape before him, it did tweak his sense of humour to be commanded like a servant or a child. Particularly on top of the repeated pleas to 'be careful'. Was she so particular on that score because she had _not_ been careful?

Going to get help did seem a rather sensible idea, except that his ankle had started to throb. It would be a slow journey. Casting his eyes around for something he might use as a crutch, Fergus spied a long stick, too slender to be used as a cane, but perhaps long enough to reach into the hole. He was a strong man, well muscled through exercise and discipline. He should be able to pull a woman from a hole in the ground.

"And then she can help me walk back to the castle," he muttered, shaking his head and uttering a sound somewhere between a tsk and a chuckle.

"What? Are you there?"

"I am here."

Fergus reached for the stick and discovered it was actually a tree root snaking through the leaves and grasses. Pulling out his belt knife, he scouted out what he thought might be a suitable length and cut it off.

"What are you doing? Are you going for help?" Her tone now sounded querulous.

"I am going to try something."

"Wouldn't it be easier if…"

"Are you always this quarrelsome?" Fergus snapped.

"Only when I'm stuck a Maker forsaken hole!" Splashing followed her reply and then her voice called up more clearly, "I apologise if I sound terse." Rather than the expected sarcasm, she actually sounded sorry.

Fergus sighed. "No, I should be the one to apologise. Here," he started feeding the root over the edge of the hole, "grab a hold of this. If it is supple enough, tie it about yourself."

Silence met his request then he felt a tug on the other end of the length of tree root. "Got it."

She tugged a little harder on it and it slipped through his hands a little faster and Fergus quickly tightened his grip. He did not want to hear her thoughts if the entire root fell into the hole with her. After some time during which the root moved back and forth and generally jerked about in his hands, she called up, "Right. If you're sure this will work?" She sounded nervous and a little tired.

No. "We can only try. If it doesn't work, I'll go for help, alright?"

"Well… alright." She tugged on the root.

Fergus yelped as he slid across dry mulched leaves and sharp rocks, the former speeding his way, the latter ripping at his pants and jacket. He thrust his hand into a crack and managed to lodge his boot into a crevice.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, sorry, I did not expect you to pull right away," Fergus answered a little tightly as he sat up and wedged his boots into the cracks and crevices.

"Oh… sorry."

"It's alright, I've braced myself, I'm going to try and pull you out now."

He tugged on the root and felt her weight settle against the end of it as he managed to lift her from the ground. Taking in a deep breath, Fergus pulled backwards, placing one hand over the other. The fact that he could lift her at all meant she wasn't heavy, but anything hanging from a rope, or root, took strength to lever out of a hole. Firming his legs and straightening his back, Fergus continued hauling the root upwards. Fingers reached up over the lip of the hole and scrabbled about amongst the dry weeds and loose pebbles.

Fergus continued pulling, ignoring the temptation to reach for her hand. The top of her head came into view, a bird's nest of brown curls, and then her face. "Lucinda!" he gasped, surprised to see Ser Travers's younger sister.

"My lord!" she answered.

Taking a firmer grip on the root, Fergus pulled harder. She had her other hand wrapped around the root and as her shoulders cleared the edge, she tried to put both arms over the edge. Then began the game of trying to pull herself up with one hand, fingers clawing at the rock, while not letting go of her life line. Fergus wanted to reach for her hand, but he dared not let go of the root, particularly now as all her weight seemed to be hanging from the other end. He imagined she'd climbed the wall of the hole to a certain point, but now simply swung from the edge, feet kicking into open air.

Lucinda managed to get both elbows above the edge, and Fergus held his breath. She let go of the root in order to grab at one of the rocks and he saw too late that she reached for the wrong one; it came up off the ground in her hand. Her mouth opened in a silent 'o' and it seemed time slowed as she slipped backwards.

Fergus abandoned the root and reached for her, grabbing the hand that still clutched at the edge. Unfortunately, he loosened her grip in the process. Her weight then pulled on his arm, which tugged him forward, wrenching his sore ankle from its hold behind one rock and leaving his other boot wedged in a crevice.

Slowed time then stood still as he teetered over the lip of rock and then suddenly he was swallowed by blackness followed by a splash as Lucinda hit the water, a spray of droplets striking his face, and then he plunged into the pool, face first, eyes open, mouth open. Water seemed to rush down his throat and Fergus coughed and spluttered in the cool, wet darkness. He kicked out with his feet and flailed with his hands, trying to turn himself upright in the lightless pool. He became disoriented and panic wormed its way into his thoughts as the world seemed to lose definition and direction. He could not remember which way was up. His hands struck rock and he pulled himself towards it only to feel himself jerked backwards. He struggled against the grip until something tapped him on the head. Lucinda?

He relaxed and then realised she had his collar and was pulling him upwards. Craning his head back, he could see the light above the pool and then his head broke the surface of the water. He tried to take in a breath and only coughed as water surged out of his lungs.

Lucinda dragged him out of the pool, though by the time his back hit the slimed and muddied 'shore', Fergus had recovered enough to help. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks as he pulled himself up onto the ledge, then he rested on his hands and knees and coughed again, his throat raw and his head spinning.

"My lord, are you well?"

"Fergus," he coughed, "Call me Fergus, Lucinda." Maker's breath. He flopped onto his backside and sat blinking at the dim light surrounding them. What had he done? "I'm so sorry," he began. Beside him, Lucinda began to chuckle and he squinted at her through the darkness, wondering if she'd hit her head, or if perhaps she wept and it just sounded as if she laughed. "What in Thedas…?"

"Well… Fergus," Lucinda managed to get out, before clapping her hand over her mouth, squelching more laughter. Her shoulders shook a little, and then she took in a gulp of air, chuckled one more, then breathed out a sigh. Glancing over at him, she finally continued. "You really are a knight in shining armour."

His mouth dropped open and then he gazed around at the dark hole and the shaft of light that played off of the rippled water. He saw his bootless foot and his ripped pants. Then Fergus glanced at her face. He could barely see her in the darkness, could just make out the smudges of dirt and bedraggled tendrils of hair.

He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. He laughed. Lucinda joined in.


	6. The Push and the Pull

The Push and the Pull

Aedan smiled as he listened to Leliana chat with Rory and Grace. The soft, conversational tone of her voice was familiar and the children answered in kind. They sounded as they did every morning, or any normal morning. They had slept reasonably well, though he shouldn't have been surprised – with their sleep interrupted the night before and walking through the rain to the inn, everyone had been exhausted. He'd expected nightmares though, at least his own, and he'd had them. The children seemed to have slept peacefully and Leliana rarely had nightmares.

Gazing over at his wife, he mused upon this fact. Maybe she did have terrible dreams, but he slept through them, oblivious because of his own nightly entanglements with dark fates.

So lost in his thoughts had he become that Aedan did not notice he'd paused tying his boots until his fingers began to tingle and he looked down to see one of the laces wrapped tightly about his hand, his fingertips turning an odd shade of purple. Blinking, he loosened the lace and resumed tying.

Rory wandered over then and asked for his own boots to be tied and Aedan happily complied, grateful for something to focus his thoughts. Besides being a little tired he felt a bit disconnected, but having his son standing there rooted him in Thedas.

A surprise awaited them in the common room of the inn: Rolf, Runir and Marin.

They sat at a table in the far corner. Runir had obviously been watching for them and he stood, followed by the other two men, as soon as Aedan entered the room. They saluted him, arms crossed, waists bending in brief bows, and every man and woman in the dining room turned to see who had commanded such respect. Aedan felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment. He nodded at the three Wardens and turned to put his hand at the small of Leliana's back, ushering her and her children forward, ahead of him.

"Commander," Rolf said before gripping both of his arms firmly. Despite his flustered state, Aedan was pleased to see the warrior. He was fond of all the Wardens, felt strongly the bond of brotherhood with most. But Rolf had been there at the siege Denerim and he was one of the first Wardens Aedan had recruited after the Blight. He was also a friend.

Gripping the man's arms in return, smiling, Aedan replied, "It's good to see you, Rolf." He bit his tongue over an attempt to ask Rolf not to call him 'Commander'. He realised the man did it out of affection and respect. Instead he asked, "Where is Eric?"

Runir called from his spot in the corner, the rogue always chose the back wall, the corner seat, "The dynamic duo has been split!"

Rolf rolled his eyes. "The Northern Patrol is still beneath Gwaren, so Garrett asked me to head up a temporary team," he explained.

"And he gave you Runir and Marin? You poor sod." Aedan winked at the pair of Wardens who had recently accompanied him and Leliana to Orlais. Runir chuckled while Marin mock scowled.

"And me," came a familiar voice from behind him.

Aedan turned to see Nate approaching. "Nate," he said. The two men embraced. Their bond extended further than the brotherhood of Wardens. They had known each other as children and had worked hard to put aside their differences during and after the battle with the Architect.

Leliana and the children were passed amongst the Wardens with much affection and enthusiasm, and it lightened Aedan's heart to see Rory and Gracie smiling at the familiar faces, giggling at the tickles and accepting treats that appeared from nowhere - candies, a carved wooden figurine, ribbons and even a whistle made its way into their eager hands. They did not look or act like children who had witnessed something horrific. Perhaps the darkness had obscured more of their view than Leliana had guessed? Or maybe his children had seen worse things in their dreams.

Though not last night.

Shaking off that thought, Aedan pulled out a chair for his wife and as the party settled themselves, he ordered breakfast for everyone and waited for the server to move away before launching into a torrent of questions. "Are you on patrol? How many are you? How fares the Keep? Have you heard from Philippe?" He bit his lips closed then, remembering these were no longer his Wardens; he was no longer Warden Commander. Though always he would be a Grey Warden, would always carry the taint in his blood. This must be how Alistair feels, he thought.

Rolf answered his questions. "We are on patrol, yes. Yrisa is with us also, but took ill two days ago. We decided to rest up here, let her recover before moving on. We arrived late last night." The Warden nodded towards the proprietor who was talking to pair of travelers in the corner. "Bernard informed us you were here, but said you'd met trouble on the road and were all likely sleeping. We did not want to wake you."

Aedan nodded. "Thank you, yes. We have some of the Highever guard with us…"

"…they breakfasted already and told us what happened. Ser Travers is in the village with them, replenishing your supplies," Rolf put in and Aedan nodded again. They would need to speak further of the ghouls, and the fact that the bandits seemed to have been looking for him in particular, but he'd rather wait until after they'd eaten and the children were out of earshot.

"What ails Yrisa?" Leliana asked.

"A fever, chills, sneezing," Marin answered. He gestured the window just along from their table. Aedan looked over and saw the grey light and wet splatter on the rippled pane. More rain. "In this weather, it is not surprising."

Yrisa was robust woman, a stout mage recruited from the tower shortly after the Blight. Aedan hoped that Marin was correct in guessing she merely had a mild fever and not something more serious.

"I will go see her after breakfast," Leliana said to nods all 'round.

Aedan opened his mouth to repeat his question about Philippe, but Nate answered for him just at that moment.

"Yes, Aedan, we have heard from Philippe."

Why did he stop, why didn't he report? Aedan leaned forward and then realised what he must look like. Rubbing at the scar on his forehead, he leaned back and swept his other hand out in a dismissive gesture. "I'm sorry, Nate. Habit… it's not my business anymore."

"The darkspawn are all our business, Aedan, regardless of who we are," Nate answered. Then he sighed and looked down a moment, as if trying to decide whether he should continue. Finally, he did. "He has found more of the same, the laboratories, the residences, the increased lighting… and maps."

"Maps?" Aedan felt the hair raise along the back of his neck and something else – a tickle down his spine, a tremble at his fingertips, an almost soundless buzzing behind his ears. The fever. His fingers curled around the edge of the table top and, feeling the weight of Leliana's deep blue eyes, he glanced over at her. He shook his head, wordlessly. 'I'm alright', 'I won't go', 'Don't worry about me', he meant all of those things but really, he was also trying to clear his thoughts, shake the buzz from his ears. Leliana's warm hand moved over his and their fingers entwined and Aedan breathed out a soft sigh.

Nate leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Maps of the Deep Roads, some of the southern portions. Not complete, by any stretch, and much more crude than the ones the Wardens and Legion have been putting together."

Aedan had so many questions, almost too many. Where was the Legion, had they reached Orlais yet? Were they coordinating with the Orlesian Wardens? He'd not had asked Runir and Marin about their meetings in Val Royeaux, despite spending almost a week on board a ship with them. In his memory those six days often seemed to blur into one long instance of him sitting on deck with his legs hanging over the edge, heels kicking at the spray while he gazed into the blue depths of the ocean. Had he really done nothing but sit and stare for six days? Probably not.

The door to the common room opened letting a blast of cool, damp air swirl between the wooden posts, tables and chair legs. The sound of the rain and the rise of voices in the common room broke the spell that seemed to have transfixed him and Aedan looked up and saw two of the Highever guard. With a wave he beckoned them over.

The men approached and stopped to salute everyone in general before offering verbal greetings and sitting at a close by table, setting down a few parcels. One of them raised a hand to catch the server's attention and Nate suddenly leaned forward, narrowed his eyes and then leapt from his seat, moving to the guard's side with a speed and agility that surprised many, given his size. He grabbed at the guard's neck and Aedan pushed his chair back, the loud scrape and general scuffle catching the attention of the other patrons in the dining room.

"Nate?" he queried, moving to the Warden's side.

Nate had his hand about a pendant hanging from the guard's neck and without a sound he gave it a quick jerk, snapping the cord and pulling it away.

"Hey!" The guard made to stand up.

"Where did you get this?" Nate asked, his voice a loud growl.

Aedan looked at the pendant, his confusion no doubt reflected in the faces of both guards. Why was Nate interested, no, more than interested in some twisted looking lump of…

A vague memory stirred.

"Oh," he breathed, the pieces sliding into place. Stepping between Nate and the guard and placing a reassuring hand on either shoulder, Aedan forced himself to look calm, be calm, while the fever sang in his ears and the floor seemed to sway beneath his feet. Taking a shallow breath, he said, "Peter, where did you find the amulet?"

Looking extremely offended, the guard shrank back from the pair of them. "I got it off one of the bandits, alright? You told us to search the bodies," he flushed, "I just… I'm sorry. I thought it looked interesting."

Aedan looked at Nate. "Is it?"

"Yes, Aedan, it is." Glancing back at the guard, Nate continued. "This is one of the amulets that caused the plague in Denerim."

The guard looked frightened and Aedan's first instinct was to reassure the man. Gripping his shoulder more firmly, he said, "Peter, how long have you been wearing the amulet?"

Clearing his throat, the Peter stammered, "Ah, pretty much since I found it." He started shifting oddly then and Aedan could imagine how the man felt. Even if he'd not been wearing the twisted black stone for long enough, his imagination could probably supply the tickle and itch of the rash that preceded the onset of the plague, the tainted plague that would turn him into a ghoul.

Alistair had told him what had happened in Denerim while he'd been away. As he'd listened to the horror unfold, Aedan had been grateful for the fog and the numbness that had kept his emotions at bay. His worst nightmare had come true – darkspawn beneath Denerim – while he'd been away, enduring something he now had nightmares about.

Aedan glanced at Nate. The Warden seemed to be waiting for something and Aedan realised they'd fallen into a familiar routine, he the commander, Nate the subordinate. Before he could stop himself, he gave the order. "I'm sorry, Peter, but we're going to have to watch over you until we can get you looked over by one of our mages." He looked at Nate. "Anders is in Denerim, correct?"

Nate nodded. "He is, and Nicholas is also familiar with the feel of the taint and the plague."

Peter looked pale and he started rubbing absently at his arms. Then, unable to sit still, he peeled his shirtsleeves back and peered at his skin, almost visibly sagging at the freckled but otherwise unblemished appearance of his forearms.

Aedan turned around to the table to talk to the other Wardens and his gaze fell instead on his family. He recognised the look on Leliana's face. Her patient look. Maker's breath, what was he doing? He felt the push and the pull. Between duty and family. He wanted to focus on the attack and the amulet, find out what they both meant. But they were Grey Warden business and he no longer commanded the Wardens – he didn't even want to be a Warden any more, or so he'd thought. The buzzing had retreated from his ears and the room stood still around him, he could not feel the fever. But he could feel the puzzle of the amulet plucking at him, beckoning him.

But he'd made other choices.

Casting his attention towards the Wardens instead, he said, "Well, ah…" His fingers had found the scar on his forehead and he explored the contours of it as his thoughts swirled and raced. He nodded at Nate. "Right, so um, I'm sure you have things, er…" he couldn't finish.

_I am not their Commander, I am not a Grey Warden._ He had to leave.

Stepping forward, he crouched between his children. He helped them from their seats and took a small hand in each of his. Bending, he brushed his lips past Leliana's cheek then said quietly, "Go visit with Yrisa. Give her my love. I will watch the children."

Bowing his head formally to the assembled Wardens and guards, Aedan then led his children from the common room.

-=0=-

An awkward silence seemed to swallow all conversation at the table as Aedan left the dining room. Leliana watched him go, torn between following him and letting him do what he needed to do. She understood what he was going through, she did, but that did not make it any easier to watch.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder and she looked up to see Marin beside her. She'd not even noticed him come around the table. "I'll show you to Yrisa's room if you like," he said quietly.

Leliana nodded and gave him a warm smile before standing. Nate stepped towards her, looking as if he wanted to say something reassuring, but didn't know how to word it. Leliana took the initiative. "He is alright, Nate. After six years, it must be… difficult to let go. He just needs time." More time… Leliana pushed aside the traitorous thought: Aedan always seemed to need time, time and more time. Well, he hadn't always, just lately.

She felt herself assuming a mask, the smile a touch too stiff on her face. Nate nodded, returning her smile, his containing the genuine warmth hers should have had. She knew he understood and that he didn't even really need her words. Perhaps they all just needed to hear it be said though, just to make sure they were all thinking the same thing.

Marin guided her to the staircase. Leliana knew she could have found Yrisa's room on her own, Marin wanted to talk, however briefly. She paused on the landing in invitation and he did not hesitate.

"He looks so well, Leliana," he started, his Orlesian accent strong and familiar. "But I saw the look in his eyes when he grasped the purpose of that amulet. Bah, I do not need to tell you these things…"

Leliana gripped the man's arm and gave him a properly sympathetic look. "For most of his adult life, being a Warden is all he has known, Marin. He has not yet seen thirty years." She sounded so patient, even to herself.

"When is he coming back, to Amaranthine?"

A curl of doubt tickled at Leliana's mind. "He is not, Marin," she supplied, feeling that she passed on news, not a fact he should already have known. Aedan had written to Garrett, had he not? Made his retirement official…

"But…"

"Marin, you saw him on the _The Blazing Sun_…" Leliana closed her eyes and pressed her fingers over them. While Runir and Marin had 'seen' Aedan on the ship, Aedan had not seen them, not really. And the pair of Wardens had little idea of what had occurred in Val Royeaux, they only knew he had fallen ill with a fever, one that had kept him unconscious for several days and seemed to have rendered him weak beyond imagining. Thank the Maker they had not seen all of his wounds, his scars.

She leaned against the wall and studied the floor, lost for words. She missed Highever, they had been surrounded by a bubble of silence there, she realised, a lack of questing eyes and querying tongues. Once Aedan had told Fergus of their ordeal, all they'd had to do was recover, not hide. But now they had entered Ferelden again and already their world had turned upside down. Leliana felt as if control of their lives was slipping through their fingers once again.

"Leliana, is everything alright?"

Not really... "I am a little shaken from the attack, Marin, I think we all are. Otherwise, I am well, yes." He meant well, but Leliana did not want to have this conversation at the moment. "Can we…?"

"Yrisa's room is the last one, it has two windows, not that they are letting in any sunshine at the moment," the Warden commented ruefully. He took her elbow and then paused once more before they reached the end of the hallway. "If ever you need anything, Leliana, I am here."

After nodding somewhat absently, Leliana glanced up at the Warden and stopped. She thought she'd heard something in his tone and there it was, in his eyes. Only her years of training as a bard kept from reacting to what she perceived as more than friendly regard in the grey eyes that looked upon her with concern and warmth and that something else, something deeper.

He left her then, dispelling what had nearly become an awkward moment and Leliana could not help watching his retreating figure. Memories of little instances nudged her mind then, Marin's attentiveness whenever she visited the Keep, dancing with him on board _The Blazing Sun_, the time he had spent with her while Aedan had been pacing or sleeping or staring. Had she been oblivious to what she now imagined, or had she simply taken his friendship for granted? Had she given him some sort of opening? She rubbed at the crease between her brows, two fingertips massaging the furrow she'd almost forgotten about over the past month. She would not do anything or say anything she decided. It would only embarrass them both, whether she had perceived matters correctly or not. Tomorrow they would set off for Denerim and then Gwaren and when they reached their home, everything would fall into place. Everything would be better.

Yrisa's room was quite a pleasant one, her two windows giving opposing views of the small market square below. Leliana thought she detected a break in the clouds to the west and she mentioned it to the mage.

"More of that teasing sky, eh? They clouds have been parting and reforming for days," Yrisa answered as she twitched the blanket back over her knees and pointed her toes towards the fire. She looked extremely cozy in an upholstered chair set before a small hearth which kept the chill from the room.

The mage did have a fever, a relatively mild one, but taking to her bed before it had progressed had been the best course, Leliana thought. She liked Yrisa; they both had a fondness for history and stories and could talk for hours uninterrupted. The Warden did not want to hear stories, however. After they exchanged a little news, she asked the inevitable question.

"How is Aedan? I have not seen him in months? I have only heard the rumours."

"He is well and looking forward to his new challenges," Leliana replied optimistically.

The mage smiled. "I can picture it, you know. Him being Teyrn. Don't be me wrong; he makes a wonderful commander too… Aedan has a way with people, he really does. But I think the challenges of land holding and politics will engage him in a way hunting darkspawn did not."

Leliana smiled in appreciation of Yrisa's comments. Finally someone who seemed not only ready to let Aedan go, but had encouraging things to say about his choices.

"I saw Luke in Denerim not two weeks ago. He is so grown up, such a lovely young man!" Yrisa put a hand to her breast in a grandmotherly gesture and Leliana found herself grinning.

Yrisa was over forty years, perhaps close to fifty, and if you didn't know she was a Grey Warden and a mage you'd never guess it from her appearance and mannerisms. She knitted socks and sweaters for the Wardens and often mothered them in a way that Leliana knew all men secretly enjoyed. The Western Patrol would be missing her cooking and campfire stories, she decided. But the mage had a special bond with Luke. She had been there when Aedan had rescued the boy and his sister from the cellar of their farmhouse. She had been there when Luke's sister died. She had fostered, with the best of intentions, Luke's interest in all things to do with the Grey Wardens, beguiling him with tales of Griffons, Blights and Weisshaupt.

"He really is, Yrisa. He is a joy," Leliana answered. Luke would always hold a special place in her heart. Her first 'child' if not properly her own. "He takes everything in stride, does he not?"

"He does. Now where are Rory and Grace? Tell me all about them."

So she did. By the time she left the mage, Yrisa seemed on the verge of a nap and Leliana felt more herself again. She climbed the stairs to the top floor of the inn and stepped into the suite they had taken the night before. Aedan lay sprawled across the bed with a child on either side. All three were asleep. Around them were toys; wooden soldiers, soft dolls, a ball and crumpled bits of paper.

The sight warmed her further. Aedan had walked away from Warden business and indulged his children. To her mind, he had affirmed his choice.

Aedan stirred as she moved closer to the bed and Leliana saw he'd been dozing only, while the soft snores of the children indicated proper and deep sleep. Blinking, he disengaged himself from Grace's arms and one of Rory's legs and sat up. He held out his arms. Leliana moved into his embrace and leaned into his warmth, the familiar feel and smell of him wrapping about her.

"Leli…"

"Aedan…"

He let her go, his face set into a somewhat unreadable expression, and his fingers fiddled with his shirt cuffs.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I want to travel to Denerim with the Wardens," he said quietly. "We are traveling the same way; they would be extra protection against the further attacks…"

"Aedan, when you wrote to Garrett, what did you tell him?"

He looked up, his eyes wary, cool. She knew that look. He prepared to skirt the truth. Aedan did not lie very often and usually only about small things that didn't really matter – how much he'd had to drink or exactly how much coin he'd lost in a card game. His gaze dropped from hers. "I told him…" he looked up at her again. "Leli, I couldn't tell him I'd never be back. He doesn't know about Val Royeaux, he wouldn't understand why I'm abandoning…"

"But you are not abandoning anything, Aedan. You are, or were simply retiring. Or maybe you are not?" Her brows drew together and she felt her cheeks flush with anger and sadness. "Are you going to Gwaren to be Teyrn or to check on Philippe?"

He looked hurt by her question. "To be Teyrn," he answered flatly. "That Philippe is in Gwaren makes little difference."

Did it? Had she overlooked that connection, had he become better at deception? He'd certainly hidden his obsession until it had nearly been too late. Then again, she'd not been there, she had been in Denerim. But she had given that up. She had retired, as he had – hadn't he?

Immediately an image came to her mind – her waiting at Gwaren, with the children, while he went underground and never came back. A chill swept through her, one quickly followed by a flush of anger and fear. Her next words burst from her lips unbidden, unconsidered. Her fear spoke. "I have given up so much for you, Aedan. Don't leave me alone there!"

He looked stunned. "Leli?" He tried to reach for her.

"No." She batted his hands away and stepped back. "No, Aedan. I will not sit by and watch you lose yourself again." It hurt to push him away, but she did it out of instinct. Push him away now before he left her alone again, disappeared underground and into the fever the drove him so relentlessly. "I need you here."

Aedan did not reach for her again; instead he drew in a breath and said levelly, "What do you think I am trying to do? Ever since the attack I have been trying to stay here, Leli. For you, for the children, for everyone." He stood up and waved a hand at her then, anger crossing his face. "I didn't want to have to fight again, I didn't invite those ghouls into our camp – you know how hard it has been for me to even lift a sword. Maker's breath, I nearly didn't!" He took a step towards her. "I am trying, Leli. I don't know what else to tell you, or what else you expect."

"I did not expect deceit, Aedan, it's so unlike you." She shook her head at him and turned away, stung by his anger and confused by what seemed to be happening between them.

"I am not deceiving you. I am here."

"But for how long?" She felt the push and the pull. Between self and love.

He didn't answer her; he just looked at her, his eyes full of hurt, sadness, fading anger and growing uncertainty. What had she done? She wanted to move towards him, but something stopped her… an invisible barrier of ambiguity. Looking down, she noticed her fingers had tangled together so tightly that her knuckles had whitened. She loosened them with stiff movements, then looked up sharply as Rory cried out in his sleep.

The little boy turned and flung his arms up in a panicked gesture and both she and Aedan moved towards the bed, united, for now, in their effort to comfort their child. But it wasn't over, Leliana knew that. She felt as if she'd pried the lid from something and in the process had bent it so that it would not fit back in place properly.


	7. A Suitable Replacement, Part One

A Suitable Replacement- Part One

Alistair folded the letter in half and set it on his desk. Glancing across the clean surface, he noted the two chairs sitting opposite, one normally occupied by Teagan, the other by Leliana. Today they were both empty and according to the letter beneath his fingers; one of them would now remain so. Leaning back in his chair, Alistair closed his eyes, rubbing at them gently with his fingertips. Teagan's visits were scarce; he had Redcliffe to take care of and soon would have a wife. So, more likely, he had two permanently empty chairs in front of him instead of just one. He opened his eyes and looked at the chairs sternly as if willing them to become occupied, even animate and advise him on the matter of… filling the chairs. They refused to cooperate, remaining resolutely still and empty.

The letter had become caught between his fingers and Alistair looked down to find he'd folded it into a tiny square. The absurd thought occurred that he might pop it into his mouth or stick it into that that crevice where the legs of the desk joined the top and then pretend it didn't exist, he'd never received it. Then he'd look up magically and find Leliana sitting in her customary chair – her bright and sunny smile in place, her children sitting on the floor drawing or playing, generally causing a hubbub and filling the room with their chatter.

Or… he could greet her at the gates to Denerim in two week's time and feign ignorance, ask her when she intended to come back to work and simply ignore her quiet protests. Brenna might, no… would give him the look if he did that. Leliana had one of those looks too. And then he'd have to explain to Aedan why the women were looking at him in such a fashion and… right, bad idea.

He'd suspected, sort of, that Leliana would not remain chancellor indefinitely. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he'd been expecting this letter. Aedan and Leliana needed each other more than Ferelden needed them. They had done their duty, more than their duty, and would continue to do so by reviving Gwaren. Aedan had sent him letters from Highever, with attached reports and charts, outlining the first of what would probably be several schemes. His brother Warden's enthusiasm seemed to hover above the words on the page, tangible and exciting, and Alistair had grinned as he read each letter and dutifully scanned each report and chart. He'd not whined once – of course, Leliana had not been sitting opposite and whining sounded even more pathetic without an audience.

With a sigh that had a sound to it, something slightly dejected (and whiney), Alistair peered at the tiny square of parchment in his hand before setting about unfolding it to read the letter again.

Leliana was such an encouraging person. She'd started her missive by assuring him that everyone was well and happy at Highever. The minstrel – and Alistair had decided that a letter from Leliana could, without a doubt, make war with the Antivans sound feasible and somewhat cheerful – went on to tell him, the King of Ferelden, that he did such a fine job that her minor contributions (described self depreciatingly as sunny smiles, enthusiastic support and careful ears) really amounted to so little. His smile had dropped from his face at that point and his frown had deepened as he read the last. Leliana wanted to formally retire from her position as Chancellor.

Dropping the creased parchment onto his desk once more, Alistair pushed back his chair and left his small office and went to find his wife.

Brenna, like all women, had a sixth sense regarding mood and before he'd even opened his mouth she enquired, "What troubles you, love?"

Alistair glanced at his empty hands and realised he'd left the letter in his office. He did not have Leliana's way with words, so simply answered, "Leliana's not coming back!" Maker's breath, he'd not meant to sound quite so dramatic or mournful!

The queen's slender brows drew together in concern as she placed a consoling hand upon his forearm. "To Denerim, as chancellor?" she clarified, getting right to the point.

He nodded and sighed.

"I am glad," Brenna said simply.

"Won't you miss her?"

"Of course I will, but Gwaren is not Antiva, we can visit, and with Luke stationed in Denerim, I am sure they will come to the city as often as they can."

How could Brenna sound so calm and reasonable in the face of… well, it wasn't a disaster, but something bordering on such. Alistair felt abandoned and slightly bereft. No, that was too dramatic. He did feel a sense of loss, however. Leliana counted as one of his closest friends and his most secure confidant. She had been the one to encourage him to pursue Brenna and she always had time to listen. The woman had endless patience. Her advice on matters of politics was equally sound and as a former bard she had a unique set of talents he would miss – her propensity to absorb and interpret gossip and her perspective. Leliana looked from the top down where as he tended to look from the bottom up.

Alistair had not had the benefit of a noble childhood. Many felt this made him a good king – he certainly identified with his people. His detractors, however, maintained this skewed his perspective. Leliana, though not raised as a noble, had moved through that world, first as the ward of Lady Cecilie and then as an uninvited guest. She understood power and politics and knew much about other cultures and how to communicate through differences.

One such instance stood out clearly in his mind.

They had entertained an ambassador from Rivain about a year ago. The archdemon from the previous Blight had been slain in Rivain by the Grey Warden, Gaharel. The Rivani ambassador had been very enthusiastic about meeting another Grey Warden, one who had not only survived a Blight and an archdemon, but who had become king. To Alistair's never ending embarrassment, the man seemed prone to oddly reverent silences, punctuated by wondrous looks and ending with exclamations of awe and delight.

The dark skinned man had arrived with a trunk full of gifts. Upon Leliana's advice, Alistair had also had gifts made and set aside for the emissary and for their monarch. Their first order of business had been a formal dinner featuring a carefully constructed menu of complimentary Fereldan and Rivani dishes. The assortment of flavours had combined reasonably well and the ambassador, Jabril, had complimented it all enthusiastically.

Then began the exchange of gifts.

Jabril flipped back the lid of his trunk with the verve of a merchant selecting which item might best entice. After surveying the contents a moment, he had murmured, "Ah," and rubbed his hands together before retrieving a bolt of cloth. The silken material had been emerald green flecked with strands of gold and appeared so light as to be almost transparent. It drew appreciative breaths from both Brenna and Leliana. Brenna had reached for the cloth, mesmerized by the appearance and he'd handed it over with a smile.

"It will suit your eyes," Alistair said. Turning back to Jabril, he'd prepared to offer his thanks, but the Rivani had held up a hand and then delved into his trunk once more, this time emerging with another bolt of cloth, this one a deep red and adorned with tiny black knots of thread. Alistair held out his hands to take the more than generous gift and prepared to hand it over to Brenna once more.

"No, no!" Jabril had exclaimed. Pointing to Leliana he had smiled widely and said, "This one for your other wife."

Amidst Alistair's flush and quiet choking, Leliana had leaned forward and murmured, "It is a compliment, thank him, Alistair." She took the cloth and nodded her own silent thanks to Jabril before turning to Brenna and winking. Feminine giggles had provided the backdrop to his somewhat awkward expressions of gratitude.

Looking at Brenna now, he saw that same twinkle in her eye, the warmth and amusement she so often expressed when dealing with him.

"Perhaps you could be my Chancellor," he suggested with an encouraging nod.

"I am already Queen, Alistair!" she chided with a giggle. Then, placing a hand at her midriff, she added more softly, "and soon I will be too busy to help you read your correspondence."

Alistair spluttered over his combined offense and amusement. "Leliana does more than… and she brought her children… and…" and then he melted, as he always did, beneath the green gaze of his petite wife and simply hugged her. "Right you are, love. You have a more important job, mother of the future king!"

"Or queen…"

"Or queen."

Though he did not voice the thought, Brenna could give birth to a qunari and he'd be overjoyed. Actually…

"I wanted to talk to you, Alistair." Brenna interrupted his musing.

"Oh?"

"About Henric."

"Ah." Yes, Alistair, the King of Ferelden, was all eloquence this day.

Her expression sobered somewhat. "I'd still dearly love to bring him into our home, our family, Alistair. I have grown attached to him and despite our…" she looked down at her belly, "…changed circumstances, I still think we could offer him a better life and of course," her brows drew together, "ah, things might, you know, not go well…"

Alistair still had his arms about her and he drew her towards his chest in a more gentle hug, planting a kiss atop her silken head. "Everything will go well, love." If he had to assign Nicholas to twenty four hour pregnancy watch, he would. "But yes, we may consider Henric. Can we wait until after Aedan and Leliana stop on their way to Gwaren?" He needed the next two weeks to work on his skills in persuasion…

"You are not going to ask her to stay, are you?" Brenna enquired in a tone he knew all too well. 'You're not really going to eat that are you?' 'You do realise that orange does not really go well next to green…' and so on.

"Um…"

"Alistair…"

"No, I'm not." And again his tone sounded overly mournful and dejected. "Leliana will be next to impossible to replace, you do realise that?"

"Because no one else would be so indulgent of you?" Brenna quipped.

Alistair grinned. "Yes, that's it exactly!" He then regarded his wife with thoughtful look. "Seeing as you have rejected my offer of chancellorship outright, you might assist me in finding someone else instead?"

"That I can do."

The Denerim patrol returned to Fort Drakon the following afternoon. After the plague the Grey Wardens had settled themselves in the newly opened and repurposed dining rooms of the great tower, turning the area into a headquarters for the Wardens in Denerim. They had their own lounge, dining room, barracks and armory, but when not on patrol, mixed freely with the soldiers of the Denerim City Guard and Ferelden army.

The patrol consisted of five Wardens – Ben, their leader, Anders, Gerard, Kyle and Luke. Their sixth member almost counted as a Warden with his preternatural senses and skill. Zevran continued to assist the Wardens in both his unofficial capacity and his attachment to Luke. The Warden who was not a Warden. Alistair had asked the elf once why he continued to fight the darkspawn and Zevran had replied airily that while the darkspawn were boring targets, they seemed to be getting more intelligent. He eagerly, yes, _eagerly_, anticipated the day when one offered him a proper challenge. Alistair didn't ask him again.

Alistair enjoyed having Wardens in Denerim for many reasons, not the least of which was the fact he got to spend time with Luke. The youngest Warden had spent a good portion of his youth at the palace with Leliana and they had become quite close. He enjoyed his 'nephew's' self depreciating humour and gentle manner, and having fought with him beneath the city, admired his steadfast resolve. Luke would be, already was, a formidable young man.

Striding in to the Fort that afternoon, he saw Luke in the yard amongst a cluster of soldiers and Wardens and called out to him. "Luke!"

Luke turned and his face broke into a broad grin. "Alistair," he answered and walked over to hug him fondly. The young man had always maintained a fairly relaxed aspect around the king, but Alistair noted that since the plague and their days together fighting darkspawn, Luke seemed to have less trouble calling him 'Alistair' and treating him as a brother instead of an uncle.

"Are you well? How was the patrol?"

"I am well and we covered our route with no interruptions."

"Good news then!" Alistair confirmed. "May it continue to be so."

Luke chuckled. "I think Zevran might die of boredom, but yes, we did not even hear any rumours this pass." Rumours of ghouls and amulets still circulated the countryside around Denerim and had come from as far away as South Reach. Darkspawn encounters, thankfully, had been extremely rare of late.

The elf slipped from the press of bodies to arrive soundlessly at Luke's side. "Ah, yes, I had to resort to assassinating rabbits, a sore waste of my fine skills." The familiar accent warmly coloured his words and a wide smile stretched his mouth. "Who is annoying you, Alistair? I crave some excitement!"

Enough years had passed that Alistair could laugh at Zevran's joke rather than worry that the former Crow might set about assassinating his enemies. Eyeing the Antivan now, Alistair uttered a soft, "Hm," and said, "Actually I would like to talk to you about something, Zevran. Would you stop by the palace tomorrow?"

Amber eyes lit with excitement and Zevran nodded and clapped Alistair on the shoulder. "Of course, Alistair. I shall go sharpen my blades in preparation." With that, he walked back towards the fort, no doubt to do exactly as he'd said.

Luke's head turned to follow the elf and when he looked back towards Alistair, his face held an amused grin. "You're not really going to…"

"No!" Alistair laughed. "I had a letter from Leliana yesterday. She has decided to retire from her position as chancellor."

Several expressions crossed the young man's face in quick succession. Warmth at the mention of the woman he thought of as a mother, interest in her letter, surprise at the news, then a frown, a little confusion, a second of consideration and finally, a relieved smile. "I am glad," he said simply.

Was no one on his side? "You will see her a lot less, Luke," Alistair started.

"Everyone has to leave the nest sooner or later, eh?" Of course. Luke had been trying to 'grow up' beneath the watchful and overprotective eye of both Aedan and Leliana for several years. Though he obviously loved his adoptive parents it was only natural that he enjoyed his new independence. "Besides, I am sure I will see them on holidays. And Leliana will come to Denerim to shop." The young man winked. "There is only one cobbler in Gwaren and he makes boots, serviceable boots. Aedan owns two pair."

Alistair laughed. Aedan's fondness for the simple and unadorned was well known. "Alright then. Oh," he dug in his pocket to produce the note Leliana had included for her oldest son, "Here, she sent this for you."

Luke's face lit up immediately and he took the note reverently. Looking up from the sealed fold of parchment the young man shifted his feet and glanced over at the fort.

"Go, read it. We can catch up more later," Alistair said with a smile.

Bowing his head respectfully, Luke ran lightly up the steps to the fort and disappeared between the huge, dark doors.

Zevran kept his appointment with his usual promptness, appearing soundlessly at the open door to Alistair's office about an hour after breakfast the next morning.

Sensing something, Alistair looked up with a start and smiled at the former assassin. "Do my guards know you are here?" Zevran and Leliana both liked to play hide and seek with the palace guard, an activity he found both amusing and disturbing.

"They do not. If a problem needs taking care of, I am sure you'd rather this meeting never occurred, yes?"

"Um…"

Zevran's laugh likely alerted the guards to his presence. That they did not come running attested to the fact that they had not only experienced this before, but that the king would be safe with a former Crow in his office. Of all the unusual circumstances... The elf flopped gracefully into the chair usually occupied by Leliana and looked about the room as if appraising the worth of its contents.

Struck by the fact Zevran had sat in the chair he hoped to fill, Alistair began. "Did Luke share Leliana's news with you?"

"He did."

How to phrase the next question? Alistair tried for subtlety. "I wanted your advice on a suitable replacement. A new chancellor."

Eyebrows arched in surprise, then lowered in calculation. "I do not think you want a former assassin as your advisor, Alistair."

"But Leliana…"

"Though I think the contest between our relative attractiveness is equal, she is perhaps lovelier and female and the wife of the Hero of Ferelden. Not a former Crow. Few know of her nefarious past, hm? She enjoys gossip, where I merely endure it, and she socializes well, while again, I merely endure it as a means to an end." A broad wink punctuated his comments. "Of course, if I was allowed to kill people…"

Alistair chuckled, hoping the light sound would cover his disappointment.

Zevran continued. "While I appreciate the gesture, may I make a recommendation?"

"Well, since I asked…"

"Select a Fereldan. Someone who understands politics, but is perhaps not old enough to have formed a strong bias. Someone from a respected family, someone personable. Someone you would trust with your seal. I realise such a person might be difficult to find, but you have other advisors in the meantime."

Alistair's brows had risen by degrees as Zevran described his ideal candidate. A name found its way instantly to the tip of his tongue.

"I am not talking about Luke, Alistair." Zevran winked. "That young man has another destiny." Zevran the gypsy, reading minds and telling fortunes.

"I wasn't…"

"You were, but now you are not." Clapping his hands across his thighs, the sound startling Alistair out of his state of stunned bemusement, Zevran leaned forward and asked amiably, "Was there anything else you wanted to discuss? A reason for the twitter of maids and the rose in Brenna's cheeks?"

The temptation to drop his head to his desk was strong, but Alistair resisted it. Instead he smiled and let his happiness take hold, relaxing his shoulders and warming his heart. "Brenna is pregnant."

"Congratulations," Zevran responded with a proper grin and genuine warmth in his eyes.

After Zevran left Alistair compiled a list, jotting down the names on one side the paper and some general information about them on the other. He drew a line down the middle of the page. It looked somewhat like a chart – Aedan would be proud. Putting aside his 'chart', Alistair slipped out of the palace, which consisted of him drifting along the hallway as a collection of guards gathered about him, and walked to Fort Drakon, hoping to get some exercise.

Oghren's voice reached his ears before he rounded the wall to the yard.

"Look mean, yer not there to play. Growl a bit, not like that you sound like a sodding bronto pup…"

With a grin in place, Alistair peeked through the gates just in time to see a rather foolish grin fade from the face of a young trainee only to be replaced by a woeful look of… confusion? The eyebrows moved up and down a bit and then settled down, pointing towards one another, then the young man hefted his greatsword and flew at Oghren with a bellow. The squeak at the end didn't do him any favours, but at least he looked mean. Sort of.

"Better," commented the dwarf. "Now go work on the squeak."

Cheeks aflame, the young man turned his attentions upon one of the practice dummy, bellowing as he raised his sword and attacking the straw stuffed post with a ferocious vigor.

"You never know, his smile and squeak might actually disarm an opponent," Alistair said as he approached his Commander.

"Right, just before he gets his head lopped off," came the gruff reply. Oghren turned his gaze from the trainee towards his king. "But if he's the worst of them, we're not in bad shape. It's these young nobles; they think that because their daddy held a sword, they can too. I dunno how this one escaped being shipped off somewhere to be a squire, isn't that what you folks usually do with yer spare youngin's?"

Alistair narrowed his eyes at the back of the young man's head. He did look familiar and he sifted through the faces and names of Ferelden's noble families until he placed the man. Bann Peer's son. That would explain why he'd not been taken on as a squire or a page. Peers had only been elevated to nobility five years previously when he'd been given land and responsibility for Lothering. Turning his attention back to Oghren he said quietly, "His father faced down darkspawn during the Blight. Anyone who survived near Lothering likely owes his life to Bann Peers." He watched the young man continually attack, practicing his mean yell at the same time. "He's got persistence!"

"Aye, that he does." Oghren might have been smiling beneath the profusion of red whiskers that covered his mouth. "What can I do for you today, your Majesty?"

"Exercise, Oghren, exercise."

They practiced together for a while, chatting idly as they did so. Oghren had some unique views on politics and Alistair always enjoyed hearing them. He had what Leliana liked to call the dwarven perspective. Sometimes his advice simply consisted of taking up Zevran's offer of 'anyone, anytime' and other times his advice was less blunt.

"I suppose you've heard Leliana won't be coming back,"

"That I have. The elf also warned me yer lookin' for a 'suitable replacement'. Don't ask me. I'm busy."

"Noted," Alistair said with a smile.

Afterwards, Alistair surprised Peers's son, whose name turned out to be… Peers, not very imaginative these nobles, by asking him for a match.

The boy tried, he really did. He had the build for his greatsword, and when his features could be wrestled into something that didn't resemble a goofy smile he looked the part. But Alistair could tell his heart wasn't in it. He'd seen the type before, during his templar training and afterwards, when he led Ferelden's combined armies to Denerim. Peers could develop talent with his weapon, that much was clear, and he should be encouraged to do so. But he'd never be comfortable killing. Who was, really?

Adjusting his skill so that he did not outmatch the young noble by an embarrassing amount, Alistair took him through his paces. Peers soon relaxed and began to fight more intelligently, putting more force behind his strikes.

Oghren approved. "Now you look properly mean. Mind, you're scowling at the King of Ferelden there."

Maker's breath. The young man faltered as his eyes widened and his guard dropped. Alistair nearly had to throw himself sideways to avoid pummeling him to the ground with his shield. As they both recovered, Alistair turned to Oghren and shook his head.

"What, what?" grumbled the dwarf.

After removing his armour and cleaning his sword and shield, a job he did not have to do but one he liked to do, Alistair wandered into the dining hall, feeling the need to socialize with the men. Those gathered stood in salute before returning to their ale and card games. After some consideration, Alistair had approved Oghren's request to provide, and allow the men to drink, ale in the fort. Thus far no one had really abused the ration and it saved having soldiers (and his commander) spread across the city at taverns. They were still free to find stronger drink on their own.

Spying Luke sitting towards the far corner Alistair ambled over. Before he could ask, Luke waved him to a seat. Soon after, he saw a shadow fall over the table and then retreat. Turning about, he noted Peers doing his level best, at six foot… four? and about two hundred pounds, to slink away.

"Peers, don't be shy, join us," he called.

The young man turned and ambled shyly back to the table.

Alistair soon learned that if he leaned back and dropped from the conversation entire, Peers opened up more quickly. The young man had twenty years and it turned out that he and Luke had known one another as children, vaguely, in the way that the children of one farm know the others. They'd met at fairs and festivals and the occasional trip to Lothering. The other thing the two men had in common was their relatively recent elevation in status. Luke had been adopted by the Hero of Ferelden and Peers's father had become a noble. Both had come to their nobility and educations late in life, but seemed to have paid more attention and gotten more out of it than most sons of nobles Alistair had met. After some idle talk of weapons and darkspawn they turned to the subject of politics.

The king thought his jaw might hit the table top as they delved into matters he barely grasped himself. His own education had not been so focused in the matters of governorship. He'd learned history and the chant and slanted views of each.

Just as their talk began to get really interesting, Peers was expressing his views on the Free Marches, which as a former commoner he had a unique perspective on, Anders and Zevran joined them. Their talk, in short order, moved directly to the subject of women.

That evening, Alistair reclined on the chaise set beside the hearth in his bedroom. He'd ordered it for Brenna, thinking she might like to lie by the fire instead of sit.

"Why would I want to lie by the fire?" she had asked him.

"Well because you are with child and you'll get tired."

"The bed is just over there, Alistair."

Glancing at the bed, which he could reach in two strides, Alistair conceded her point. "But," he added. "The bed is not near the fire."

"I see. Will I be getting cold as well as tired?"

"I… don't know. Maybe?"

Brenna had chuckled good-naturedly and slipped over to the chaise and stretched out on it. She had looked very enticing and subtly wanton on the oddly shaped couch and they had set about 're-purposing' the chaise.

Afterwards, Brenna commented with a giggle, "We can keep the chaise."

When Brenna saw him stretched out on it that evening, her lips curved in a certain sort of smile and she knelt down beside him, burying her knees in the thick rug set before the fireplace. Unfortunately for her, Alistair lay there deep in thought and it wasn't until she'd said his name the third time that he blinked and focused on her.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"Thinking," he replied vaguely.

"What about?"

"Leliana…"

An impish gleam lit her eyes. "On 'our' chaise? Alistair! And here I am, carrying your child."

"Brenna!" Sometimes women had an interesting sense of humour. "I wasn't, I wouldn't, she's not…"

Her giggles cut him off and Alistair relaxed. Then she asked him about his search. "Have you found a suitable replacement?"

Brows drawn down in thought, he answered, "Tell me, do you think twenty is too young to be an advisor?"

In contrast to his, Brenna's brows pointed upwards. "Probably. Who did you have in mind?"

Alistair shook his head. "Someone who might be ready in another ten years, I suppose."

He'd take another look at his 'chart' in the morning.


	8. Lights in the Darkness

Lights in the Darkness

Lucinda's brother, Ser Travers, had come to Highever as a page at the age of eight. Fergus had been seven at the time and Aedan had yet to be born. The young Cousland welcomed the shy boy from Amaranthine and they became fast friends. Aedan had been born just over a year later and the brothers often paired up with Travers and Roland, Bann Gilmore's son, who arrived as a squire when Aedan turned twelve. Travers, with his quiet disposition, proved the perfect foil for the more garrulous Roland just as Fergus's easy laugh jollied Aedan out of his often serious mindset. Together the four urged each other to more daring exploits.

Highever would never forget Roland's sacrifice, though ultimately it had been in vain. Aedan had told Fergus of their friend's brave effort to hold the doors the night Howe's men seized the castle. Though his body had never been found a tribute to Ser Roland Gilmore had been erected in the garden, next to the memorial for the former Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever whom he'd died trying to save.

Travers had been with Fergus, at Ostagar and in the Korcari wilds. They had retaken Highever together and it was after that time Travers's family had fled Amaranthine, bringing with them his sister, Lucinda, newly widowed and with a young son. Fergus remembered greeting Lucinda and welcoming her to Highever. He'd welcomed many from Amaranthine, after the Blight and Howe's treachery and again, after the Architect. He couldn't say why he recalled meeting Lucinda so clearly. Perhaps it had simply been that he'd been greeting the sister of a close friend, or maybe he'd recognised a kindred soul. They'd both lost much to the Blight.

A day spent in a hole in the ground should have passed slowly. Perhaps for Fergus alone, it might have. He'd have sat on that shelf of rock beside the pool and watched the angle of the sun change as the dim and dust flecked beam moved across the water and halfway up the wall, eventually turning yellow, then orange before darkening, fading and disappearing altogether.

Instead, the hours seemed to pass unnoticed and they both worked to find a way out of their predicament. At first they chatted idly as acquaintances do, for though they knew of each other, they did not know each other very well.

"May I ask," Fergus began, soon after their initial laughter ceased to echo about the rocks, "What you are doing down here?"

"I fell in?" Lucinda offered, then quickly followed up with, "Though I was not rescuing a damsel in distress at the time."

In the dim light, he could see her smile and it filled him with an odd sense of relief. Given that she'd repeatedly asked him to be careful, he'd figured she might spend the first hour scolding him for his trouble. She did not and as her story unfolded, it became easy to see why. Lucinda did not dwell upon what might have been or could be, she held on to what she had – which at the moment proved to be a rather wet and disheveled Teyrn.

Smiling, Fergus backtracked. "Alright then, what were you doing before you fell down here?"

A small sigh escaped her lips. "I'd come out here to check on some traps, perhaps do a little foraging, for herbs? Some of my supplies were running low and I'd thought a nice rabbit might do well for the pot!"

Fergus's stomach agreed with a soft rumble and they both chuckled.

"We've only been down here for about ten minutes and you're already complaining that you're starving…" Lucinda said with grin.

"Now, now, it's more a lack of breakfast I think. I'd…" he'd skipped it to spend more time with Aedan. "My brother left today," he offered by way of explanation.

"Oh," she started. "I suppose that means we can't hope for rescue by a proper knight then? Travers was to accompany The Warden as far as Denerim, right?"

Fergus nodded, his brows drawn together in thought. Lucinda had called referred to his brother as The Warden. Most people did, he realised, without hesitation. That's who Aedan was and would always be. Some called him The Hero of Ferelden and others called him Commander, but all thought of him as The Warden. And though Aedan had retired from the Order, the taint he carried within guaranteed that he'd always be a Warden. This struck him as sad. He knew that now, besides being the Teyrn of Gwaren, Aedan wanted to be just… Aedan. But of course, he'd gone through a similar thing himself upon becoming Teyrn. He'd been called 'my lord' from a young age by servants, men at arms and even his friends, Travers and Roland, in certain company. But when he'd assumed the mantle of Teyrn, the inflection had changed. It had taken some getting used to and even five years later he often felt like an imposter. Or like the son of a Teyrn still.

Realising his thoughts had drifted Fergus cleared his throat and answered her question. "Right. He should return before the month is out – of course that might be too late for us, eh?" he added with a small smile. "Does anyone know you're out here?"

"Not really? My son is with his grandfather, out on the boat. They're not due back 'til the end of the week. What about you? Surely the Teyrn does not wander about alone?"

"Oh, but he does," Fergus answered, his tone somewhat resigned. "On occasion." Glancing up at the ring of rocks overhead, he said, "We need a plan." He looked at Lucinda. "What were you doing when you heard me?"

"Cursing and trying to think of a plan? I'd not been down here long."

Fergus chuckled, remembering it had been her curses that had drawn his attention. "Alright, what do we have down here?"

"Two wet people, one without a boot and a swollen ankle, the other with a sodden bag of herbs." She foraged in her bag and pulled out some elfroot. "Here, it's not distilled and it's going to taste bitter, but it will numb the pain and help with the swelling."

After gazing at the limp roots for a moment, Fergus accepted her offering and advice. He saw little point in suffering needlessly. He chewed on the bitter roots, grimaced and then cupped his hands into the pool and washed the taste from his mouth with some of the water. "At least we have a ready supply of water," he remarked.

Lucinda raised her brows and pressed her lips together.

"Ah," Fergus said and let his cupped hands fall apart without taking a second drink. If they were caught down here too long, they'd have to relieve themselves somewhere…

Shuffling back from the edge of the pool, Fergus turned about and peered into the darkness behind them. "Have you looked back here?"

"No, I don't know how far back it goes. I wanted to try climbing out before I got lost forever in the caves."

"Wise choice," Fergus commented. "Aedan and I, and your brother, often explored these caves. They extend for miles back through the hillside." If they failed to climb out the way they'd fallen in and if the darkness behind them opened into the system of caves, they might have little choice but try for them. He tried to remember if anyone might have seen him heading towards the woods behind the castle. Unfortunately, unless one of the maids had peeked from a window or one of the guards had followed him about from the front gate, it seemed unlikely. But surely someone would notice him missing at some point during the day… At lunch, perhaps? He had been known to stroll down to the town for lunch at the inn. Dinner? The inn…?

Turning his attention back to ragged circle of light above them, Fergus studied the sides of the hole. As he'd suspected when attempting to pull Lucinda out, the walls seemed to lean away from the edges of the hole, their prison being shaped somewhat like a fishbowl, water included. Climbing out would be next to impossible without rope.

Fergus wanted to try anyway. He pulled off his remaining boot and his coat.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to swim over to that wall," he pointed to the stretch of rock that seemed to offer the best prospects for an upward climb, "and see how far up I can get."

"Do you think you should, with that ankle? I could go," Lucinda offered.

"You have already been dunked twice, I can see you shivering. I'll try this time," Fergus answered. Glancing at the pool, he asked, "Any idea how deep this goes?"

She shook her head. "No, I never touched the bottom either time."

Contemplating the dark water, Fergus suppressed the urge to shiver. He did not have an over active imagination, but the idea of a bottomless pool did sound like something out of a story and he could picture _things_ lurking in the murky depths. Shaking off the thoughts, he slipped into the pool and swam to the other side. He hauled himself up the first part of the wall fairly quickly, his sore ankle not bothering him so much as he'd thought it might. Hand holds and foot holds were plenty and he clambered upwards at a steady pace, hope rising in his chest as the air brightened around him and he felt the edge of the gap above drawing close. Then the wall started to curve backwards and he had a harder time clinging to it, the ever increasingly awkward angle beginning to pull on his ankle as he clutched at stones with fingers and toes.

"Are you alright?" Lucinda called over after he'd not moved for a minute or so.

"I am. I'm trying to figure out my next move." Upwards, it should be upwards, of course.

"Be careful…"

Fergus uttered a soft chuckle. "I am trying to be."

He gripped the rock and stone as if his life depended upon it and reached backwards and over his head for the edge of the hole. His fingers brushed the stone there. Extending his arm a little further, he craned his head backwards to better see what he was doing. His good foot started slipping and he tried to adjust the foot supported by his sore ankle. Pebbles loosened, hitting the water with soft plinking sounds, and he felt unbalanced until his fingers curled about the rock ledge above him. Everything held still for a moment, as if time had frozen, and then his feet seemed to just separate from the wall as his body swung outwards. Fergus threw his other hand upwards in an attempt to grasp the hole.

"Fergus!" Lucinda called.

"Hold on…" he gasped, his fingers scraping by the underside of the stone, touching, curling, but failing to catch and his weight hung from one hand only. But not for long. Grunting softly, Fergus tried to flex his elbow and adjust his grip, but his fingers couldn't hold him. Had he'd managed to get all of his hand over the edge, he might have fared better. As it was, he dropped back into the pool, feet first this time, plunging downwards until the water closed over his head, his legs kicking down into nothingness. Surfacing, he shook the water from his eyes and turned about until he saw Lucinda leaning over the edge of the pool, reaching for him. He did not swim towards her.

"I'm alright," he said before she could ask. "I'm going to try again. At this stage, I cannot get any wetter…"

Lucinda pursed her lips and then pressed them together in a line. He could almost hear her voice echoing about the small cavern.

"I'll be careful, Lucinda" he said quietly. She smiled faintly.

He tried again and he fell again. He tried a third time, his toes and fingers now scraped raw from the rocks and the climbing. The second time he managed to get only one hand over the edge again, still not far enough. The third time his muscles protested every reach, his arms and legs trembling as he inched upwards. He threw himself towards the ledge in a desperate attempt to wrap his hand further about the edge, but missed entirely, landing back in the pool with an almighty splash.

"Fergus," he heard as his head broke the surface of the water. "Come out… don't try again."

Treading water for a moment, he looked upwards and noted that the sun had moved directly overhead so that it shone downwards right onto his face. It was midday. By his estimation, he'd been in this hole for about two hours. "I'll take a break." He grudgingly swam towards the ledge and accepted her help to get out of the pool. "I'm sorry, Lucinda," he said with a hefty sigh.

"Call me Lucy," she answered unexpectedly. With a small lift of her shoulders, she clarified her statement. "Lucinda sounds so formal," a shy smile and a glance over her shoulder at the darkness behind him, "and though I am sorry to have pulled you into this mess, I am grateful not to be alone down here."

Fergus chuckled again. "I am happy to be of service, Lucy." Despite the sting of his scraped skin, the renewed throb of his ankle, the cling of wet clothing and the cold that seemed to have seeped into his bones, he seemed to have no trouble finding humour in the situation. It was preferable, at the moment, to the alternative.

"I don't think I'd have any more success than you climbing out, your reach is greater than mine. But perhaps I could scout the cave first?" she said.

"By yourself?"

"Well one of us should stay here, don't you think? To call out, or listen for rescue. To guide the other back?"

She made a certain sort of sense, he supposed, but the thought of her disappearing alone into the blackness disturbed him.

"Are you sure?" he asked. Then he added, "Don't go far… just take a look first, see if you can… see anything." Lucy nodded and turned about, preparing to explore behind them. Just before he disappeared from view, he said quickly, "Be careful."

"I will."

He watched her moving behind him, crawling on her hands and knees as the roof appeared to slope downwards with the back of the ledge. Just as she had receded into the darkness, only her boots visible, Lucy gasped.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, I just put my hand in a puddle," she answered.

After a few more minutes she had disappeared altogether and he could only hear faint shuffling. He called out, "Can you see anything?"

"Not yet. There is a cave back here, that's about all I can tell so far." Some scuffling sounds followed and then she said, "I've found some mushrooms!" She sounded quite pleased and Fergus chuckled. He supposed that to an herbalist they might represent quite the treasure. He was wondering if they might be edible when her voice floated back to him from even further away. "I've dropped down onto a cave floor, it feels like dirt. I think I can feel the air moving past… can you hear me?"

"I hear you." Air moving past? That could indicate a passage or another opening… "Wait there, I'm coming too."

"Alright."

He considered his one boot for a moment and then left it. Clambering through the darkness, Fergus picked his way over the smooth rock shelf until he found the puddle. He chuckled as his hand splashed directly into it and then he pressed forward. Lucy called out every minute or so and he moved towards her voice. As he left the circle of light above the pool, the air seemed to close about him completely, cloaking him in blackness and he experienced a brief sort of panic that he might lose his way completely. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that the hole remained a short distance away. He pressed on through the darkness. Then his hands felt an edge and he heard Lucy breathing. Sitting, he turned so that his legs could drop over the ledge and he stood up on the cave floor. He reached out beside him, fingers brushing Lucy's sleeve. Her hand found his, a simple gesture, but the feel of her fingers about his warmed his skin and soothed his apprehension. They were not alone down here, they had each other. Fergus thanked the Maker for that.

"I hope it's not too impertinent of me, Fergus, to hold your hand? I don't want to lose you in the darkness."

"I think it is an excellent idea," he answered and squeezed her fingers gently.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could barely make out the fact they stood in a cavern of sorts. A darker patch towards the opposite side indicated a deeper niche or perhaps a tunnel and that was it. No exit, no more light, no other pools of water.

"What do you think we should do?" Lucy asked.

"Lucy, I am not sure. I don't know if it is safer to stay by the pool and listen, or if we should try to walk out." He shivered at the touch of cool, dry air as it swirled about his ankles. "Walking for a while would warm me up at least. Shall we try?"

He felt her nod in agreement and they set off towards the blackness. It proved to be a passage and they entered it. After turning a corner, a source of light appeared ahead. They moved carefully, but joyfully towards it, only to discover the light came from a small fissure high above their heads. They both gazed at the light with a mixture of hope and gloom before moving on. Two things encouraged them to move forward: the lack of significant openings or forks in the path meant they could find their way back and the occasional cracks and fissures provided enough light to help them along. Sometime after they turned yet another corner and blackness closed about them and Fergus slowed his walk to a shuffling step, grimacing into the darkness as his toes caught another rock. When his ankle began to hurt, his limping step pulled enough on her hand that she tugged at his fingers to stop him.

"Here," she handed him the root in the dark, the familiar scent making identification easy. "Take some more, we need to keep you on your feet, eh?"

"Those mushrooms you found, are they edible?"

"Yes, though I'm afraid this variety doesn't taste much better than elfroot. Shall we have some… lunch?"

Fergus chewed the bitter weed and then tried a mushroom. It tasted like dirt. He took a mouthful of water when Lucy's canteen bumped into his fingers.

After their impromptu meal they made their way forward, rounding two more corners in the narrow tunnel before the walls seemed to fall away from them once more. They'd reached another cavern. Another narrow fissure lit the far end and they walked towards it. It looked wider than the others and Lucy let go of his hand to clamber up the wall part of the way.

"I might be able to fit," she announced.

"Right, hold on."

Elation lifted his voice and Fergus felt it rising in upwards in his chest, tiny bubbles of hope. He moved beneath her and hesitating, placed a hand on her ankle to help pin her to the wall and help her climb up. She moved from his grasp and he encouraged her to stand on his shoulders. After a short argument, she did. The light flickered, faded and then seemed to cut out entirely as her head slipped out of the opening.

"I can see the forest," she called down. Her feet pushed against his shoulders as she struggled to put more of herself outside the hole. "Crap."

"What?"

"It's not wide enough for my shoulders, hold on."

Her weight settled on his shoulders again as she moved down and then slipped an arm through the opening first. Then she moved upwards once more. "Maker's blood!" she cursed and then her weight bore down on him again as she slipped from the hole and grabbed at the wall. Fergus steadied her as she made her way back down.

"I don't fit."

What could he say? "It's alright. We'll find another way. Did you… could you tell where we were?"

"No really. I know the forest well, but I don't usually look at it from that angle." She paused. "Fergus, the sun has passed well overhead. It will be dark in about two hours."

"They will notice I am missing when I do not return after dinner…" Maybe. He had stayed in town late before and with Aedan leaving that day the staff might expect he'd gone to one of the taverns in search of liquor and company. Fergus sighed. "Lucy, I might not be missed until well after dark. I think we'll be spending the night down here."

"Don't you usually walk about with a guard or something?" Her voice sounded a little testy, but he couldn't fault her for it.

"Actually I do, but I left before he could find me this morning. I wanted to be alone."

"Oh." A brief pause and her hand reached for his again, despite the fact they could see each other quite well in the shaft of weak sunlight. She patted at his hand instead of holding it. "I understand."

They took a break and drank from her canteen and then decided to press forward for about an hour. If they did not find an exit or another source of light, they'd come back here. The larger cavern had taken on a somewhat friendlier aspect with its chimney to the sky. After walking for what Fergus estimated might be about an hour, their place slowed by darkness and an uneven floor, he called for them to turn around.

The sunlight had dimmed considerably by the time they returned to the cavern, so much so that when the walls opened outwards once more, he thought they'd taken a wrong turn and stumbled into another cave, one they'd missed before. But then he caught the grey light in the corner and, moving towards it, they ascertained it was the same fissure. Standing in silence a moment, they listened for any sounds above but heard only the wind through the trees, each other's breath and now and again, varied stomach gurglings.

"Don't suppose you have anything other than elfroot and mushrooms in that bag?"

Lucy chuckled. "Nope. Can I interest you in a mushroom or a mushroom?" Glancing down, she enquired after his ankle. "Do you need some more elfroot?"

"No, it feels fine. I think perhaps all the exercise has kept it loose enough. Alright, let's have… mushrooms."

They sat in the small circle of grey light and dined on mushrooms and water. When the light faded and darkness encompassed them, Fergus reached for her hand.

"They may search for us tonight, but certainly in the morning. We'll be alright."

"I know," she answered, her voice confident and sure.

Fergus felt compelled to break the small silence that arose, almost as if he needed to make sure she still sat next to him, despite the warmth of her fingers in his.

"Will you tell me about your son?" he asked.

He could hear her smile. Her voice lilted. "Bart. That's his name. Well, Bartholomew, but that's such a mouthful! He'll be twelve in the new year. This is the first time he's gone out all week with my dad on the boat. He was so excited. The salmon are running over towards Waking Sea this time of year, so they'll be out about four days, then one there and one back." She paused. "He's a good lad. Minds his manners and looks out for his elders. But he walks about in a daydream. He's always coming home with bruises and scrapes and eggs on his head. It's a good thing I always have poultices on hand. I'm always having to tell him to…"

"Be careful?" Fergus interrupted?

Lucy laughed. "Just so!"

Fergus could hear the pride in her voice. He squeezed her fingers gently in response. He'd seen Bart, he thought, a few times down at the dock with the fishermen. A lanky lad with a shock of brown hair much like his mother's.

"He's a great comfort to me, you know," Lucy continued softly. "After I lost Darren in the Siege, he was all I had. He gave me a reason to keep going." She stopped speaking and Fergus held her hand a little tighter in sympathy. Everyone knew he'd lost his wife and son and so she would know he understood. "Well you tell me about your son?" she asked quietly.

Had Oren lived, he'd be nearly twelve, about the same age as Bart. Fergus didn't realise he'd sighed until he felt the air pass his lips. After hesitating a moment, he said, "He looked just like his mother. He was such a happy child and so curious! He asked on average fifty questions a day I think. He liked to run and climb and fish. I took him fishing near here," he gestured upwards and outwards to where he guessed the river might be. "He talked so much I think he scared all the fish away." He paused for a moment before adding softly, "He'd have been twelve next year also. I still miss him. Even after all this time."

"Of course you do," Lucy said and he could tell she found it perfectly natural that he should miss a boy he'd only known for six or so years. "Our children are a part of us and always will be, no matter where they are."

Fergus liked the sound of that. He often wondered if it was wrong to still hold Oren so close, to think of his son so often. He'd noticed it more when Aedan's children visited Highever. He'd see Rory do something that Oren had done or might have done and he'd remember. But he didn't want to sit in a dark cave and brood, so he sought to move their conversation to a lighter topic.

"Well, thanks to Aedan I have two nephews and a niece."

"Oh, I saw little Rory in the market place, he is so very cute and he looks just like… your brother."

"You can call him Aedan. That's his name. He prefers it to the Warden, you know."

Lucy chuckled. "I imagine he does. Rory looks like you too. And his older boy, Luke is it? He seems lovely young man."

"He is. He really is," Fergus agreed. "And then you have Grace."

"The little princess!"

"That's what he calls her, his little princess."

"Of course he does!" Lucy chuckled. "All little girls are princesses and their fathers had better acknowledge that fact or else!"

Fergus chuckled. "Noted!"

Though all was cloaked in darkness, Fergus didn't feel as if he sat in a deep, dark hole in the ground. He might have been anywhere, chatting to a friend. There seemed to be a light of sorts surrounding them, so long as they talked. He leaned his head back to see if he could spot any stars through the fissure and felt Lucy shifting beside him.

"I think I'm going to lie down and try to sleep," she said.

Though he'd much rather continue talking, even if about mushrooms, he acknowledged the sense in trying to sleep. "Good idea. We may have a long walk ahead of us. I'll sit and listen for a while."

"Alright."

Night sounds soon filled the air, even in the cave. He listened to the distant drip of water, the call of an owl in the forest above, the leaves moving, a deer whistling. Their cloven hooves clattered over some stones before they moved on and a stillness seemed to follow them, the forest falling relatively quiet for a time. Fergus heard Lucy breathing, but could tell she wasn't asleep yet. He could hear the flutter of movement that might be her shivering. It was cold, he realised. He reached for his coat and felt for her in the dark. He touched her shoulder and then slipped the coat over her.

"Thank you, but you'll get cold, Fergus."

He would, but he continued tucking the coat around her.

"Will you lie behind me? We could… keep each other warm," she said quietly.

"Lucy," he started and then he sighed softly. Again, she made sense. Sliding down onto the floor beside her, he felt about until he touched her arm. "I'll have you know I'm not in the habit of sleeping with woman after one date," he said with a quiet chuckle.

He felt her shoulder move as she chuckled. "I know you don't. You are a proper gentleman, Fergus," she answered. "I've heard stories about your brother though."

Fergus grinned. "Oh?" He'd heard them all too, he supposed and his grin widened as he imagined Aedan caught in a cave with a young lady. His brother's idea of keeping warm would have involved a lot less clothing. Of course, all that had changed when he met Leliana.

As if she'd read his thoughts, Lucy said sleepily, "But people change, don't they?"

That they did. Fergus lay down beside her and wrapped his arm loosely about her midsection.

"You are warm," Lucy murmured.

"So are you," he answered.

It felt odd to be holding a woman, familiar, yet not. Lucy was shorter than Oriana and a little wider around the middle, though how he remembered what his wife's waist had felt like slipped behind his reasoning. Instead of jasmine, Lucy's hair smelled of the forest. He didn't know if she used a soap that smelled of pine or if it came from her wandering about with the herb collecting and trapping. After the initial oddness, however, he relaxed and found himself grateful for her presence and her warmth. He was glad she'd not had to spend the night down here alone. Even if he'd failed to rescue her, he'd at least provided her with his company – a dubious exchange, but one she'd accepted with humour and equanimity.

"We'll find a way out tomorrow," he whispered after a small while.

Her soft and even breath was his only answer.


	9. I Am Here

I Am Here

Aedan glanced over at Leliana and, as had happened so often over the course of the afternoon, their eyes met and held a moment before one flicked their gaze away. He tried to talk to her over the heads of their children, but either the relentless rain or the memory of the bandits or the tension between their parents had caught both Rory and Grace and they whined and were needy and absorbed nearly all of their attention, making conversation all but impossible.

After dinner he stayed downstairs to drink with the Wardens, feeling the need for other company, a room not filled with the sound of petulant children and the feel of his wife's disappointment. But despite the general good humour of his former brothers, Aedan felt disconnected. The whiskey he rarely drank burned the back of his throat and did not numb his thoughts. His mouth seemed incapable of lifting upwards in a smile as Nate and Runir exchanged off colour remarks. In fact, his face felt as impassive as his apparent mood.

Excusing himself after the one drink, Aedan walked towards the exit, feeling the weight of their eyes on his back. He paused before pushing through the door, wondering if he'd been rude or had left in the middle of a story. But as he thought back to the conversation, all he could remember was the sound of their voices, the laughter and those few remarks. He'd not really been listening to them, he realised, and he'd been aware of his separateness. Had they? Was this what it would always be like – to be a Warden, but not a Warden?

The rain had finally stopped and the night was cool, the black sky dotted with stars. He looked up at them in wonder, the sheer number of points in the darkness taking his breath away. It seemed the stars had been waiting for a night like this, cloudless and clear, the rain moved on towards the Amaranthine coast at last where it would spill into the ocean, water on to water until the edge of the world. The mist of his quiet exhalations obscured his view a moment later and Aedan looked down as a square of light washed over him, the door opening once again to reveal Nate.

He felt his face stiffen once more, forming what he supposed was a clumsy mask. Leliana did a much better job at hiding her feelings – he felt as if he merely confirmed his misery. Looking away from his brother, his former brother, Aedan shoved his hands into his pockets and scuffed at the crusted mud and dirt beneath his boots.

"What troubles you, Aedan," Nate asked, his softly accented voice full of warmth and concern.

Lifting his shoulders in a light shrug, Aedan glanced up at his friend. He tried to find one thing to tell him that he might direct the conversation he didn't really feel like having, but what came out instead was: "Everything."

Nate had a considered look on his face, almost as if he did not know where to start, or if he should even begin. Finally, he said, "I can listen…"

"There isn't much to tell, Nate, that you don't already know. I'm trying to move on, but I feel as if Thedas won't let me. Leli, we… I…" he looked away to rework his features again, worried by what Nate might see in his face, "…I don't want to be a Warden anymore. I don't." He breathed out a short, sharp sigh before looking up again. "I've done enough, haven't I? I've done my duty. I can't…" he shook his head, "I can't give any more."

"I know. We all do. You have done more than enough, Aedan. You have given more than enough." The weight of Nate's hand settled on his shoulder. "You give everyone else choices and chances. You did it for me, for Anders, even for Philippe. Now do it for yourself and let go."

"I had, Nate, I had. But someone doesn't want me to. Someone is out there looking for me." He remembered Leliana's words the night of the attack. _They were after you, Aedan. They were after you_, she had whispered to him as he'd held her and his children, trying not to let them see the pyre of burning corpses. Blinking, focused again on Nate. "I don't know what to do," he admitted.

"Let us do it for you," Nate stated simply. "I cannot tell you not to think of these things. But I can be your watcher, your brother," a Warden. "Rolf intends to travel with you to Denerim, for protection. We will not let…" he trailed off. Wardens knew not to make promises they could not keep. "We will do our best for you, Aedan. For you and your family."

Aedan knew that they would. All of them. All of his… of the Wardens. "Thank you."

Nate hesitated a moment, then turned to head back into the inn. Aedan knew if he spoke, the Warden would pause and listen again, if need be. He remained silent. Anything else he needed to say, he needed to say to Leliana. If she would listen.

She'd not listened that afternoon. She'd not heard him. Or she had heard his words, but misinterpreted them. He knew why. She was afraid. He was afraid too, but had tried not to show it because he wanted to be strong for her, there for her. That had been misunderstood too.

As he thought back to the last time he'd felt the cut and sting of Leliana's anger his feet itched and he began to walk, just as he'd done that time. One foot fell in front of the other and he recalled his return to Fort Drakon nearly three years before. He'd had to tell her about Luke, about why he'd made his son a Warden. It all came out wrong; he started in the wrong place, telling the end before the start. She misunderstood his words and slapped his hands away and her face had become unfamiliar to him, the Leliana he did not know. She yelled at him and he'd walked away, his steps quickening until he'd run to the top of the tower.

Did she know how much it hurt him to see her like that? Probably. A curl of anger unfurled inside him, at her, and at his own foolishness. "I am not a minstrel," he whispered into the night. He did not have her way with words and sometimes he said the wrong thing. He meant the right thing. He meant what he'd said to Nate…

He did not want to be a Warden anymore. He did not want to spend his life underground. He wanted… to just be a man. Ordinary, like any other. But it seemed Thedas didn't care what he wanted.

When she'd accused him of leaving her alone, Aedan thought she meant his silences, his new habit of finding the nothingness and dwelling there when Thedas felt like too much. Did she know how hard he tried to say present? She said she'd given him everything. Did she know how much he gave? It felt like all of himself, every minute of every day – to everyone.

A rut in the road caught his boot and Aedan looked up. He'd left the village behind and trees now lined the road. He did not know if he'd walked back towards Highever or towards Denerim, not that it really mattered… unless he planned to keep walking. Mist drifted towards the edges of the road, swirling out from between the trees and wrapping about his ankles. Aedan shivered in the cooler air and turned to look back at the lights behind him. Peace seemed to cloak him as readily as the mist, as if by removing himself from the press of people, he'd removed himself from life for a while. It felt like the silence and the numbness, but it wasn't, it was merely distance. He stood and gazed back at the village and drifted in the nowhere as his mind continued to tick over.

Could he keep walking? Just… go? Gwaren didn't need him, not really. The Wardens didn't need him. Ferelden would be safe (or not) without his pair of blades. He didn't really make that much of a difference. Did Leli really need him? He seemed only to cause her anguish and pain.

The village blurred before him and Aedan blinked away his tears angrily. He hated the feel of them, the burn of them and the press behind his eyes. He hated the lump in his throat. Turning, he kicked at the road, his boot finding a rock and launching it through the mist, the swirled air parting and closing about it, hiding its path until he heard it land against the grass lining the road, a soft, muffled thump. This wasn't the nothingness, he felt it all: the anger, the pain, the sorrow and the darkness. As if summoned by his thoughts, the scars across his back itched and Aedan let loose a soft cry of frustration. He felt… broken. Though rationally he knew Orlais had changed him forever, naïvely he'd thought two months of rest would be enough time to recover. Enough time for the pain to fade. Enough time to reorganize his life so that something like that would never happen again. Instead he felt only one thing – confusion.

He took another step and heard Leliana's voice in his mind: _You ran away from me. I never thought you would do that. _

"I'm not running away," he said to no one, the sound of his voice muted and absorbed by the night and the mist.

_I always count on you to be the strong one_.

He remembered the feel of her in his arms the night before, the way she'd trembled and cried. He _had_ been the strong one. And yet, when he'd tried to so again that afternoon, she'd misunderstood him. "Leli…" The person he most wanted to talk to didn't seem to want to hear what he had to say…

A sharp snap caught his attention and Aedan's head turned to the left as he peered into the fog and the darkness it obscured in a cloak of grey. His body reacted before his mind, his pulse quickening and his legs and arms automatically loosening and flexing as he adopted a defensive pose. Then his thoughts caught up and the word, 'stupid' rolled around in his head. He'd come out here alone, that was stupid. He'd left the town without a single weapon and that was stupid. He'd done both of these things only a day after a supposed attempt on his life. Stupid, stupid…

He could see nothing, but he could feel something. Not the taint, not the creep down his spine that raised the hair along his arms and the back of his neck, the sick swirl in his gut. But something, an animal? No, an animal would move on, not pause as he did, waiting. He took a step forward, towards the edge of the road.

"Who is there?" he called, the strength of his voice surprising him. A warrior's voice, not the sound of a man who stood there lost and confused.

No answer came, but he thought he detected movement. He took another step forward. He would face whatever lurked in the trees rather than give it, him, them… an attempt at his back. A rustling and then another shark crack as a twig broke underfoot. Cold sweat beaded his forehead and Aedan swallowed drily as he clenched his fists, preparing to fight.

A shadow flew at him them, out of the forest, and he only just caught a flash of steel as a raised dagger slashed downwards. Aedan deflected the blow with his arm, wincing at the impact of bone against, bone, but he turned the blade and immediately grabbed at it with his other hand, twisting the man's grip so that the dagger dropped.

"Who are you?" he growled into the filthy face and widened eyes.

He bent the hand backwards, feeling the point where one more twist would snap tendons. The leather clad figure felt it too and tried to twist to the side.

"What do you want?" Aedan asked.

Still he got no answer and he forced the man to the ground. Then the bandit bunched his legs beneath him and a boot shot out, catching Aedan square in the chest, driving the air from his lungs. He let go and stumbled backwards. The bandit… fled. He watched incredulously as the figure disappeared into the misted trees, crashing through undergrowth, making no attempt to hide any trace of his passage. When he could draw breath, Aedan glanced down and picked up the dagger from the ground. It looked like any other dagger, the hilt still warm from the man's grip. Tucking it into his belt, he scanned the forest one last time but heard nothing.

Another problem that would not be solved by running away.

Leliana was asleep when he returned to the inn. He did not wake her. Instead he lay down on his side of the bed, careful to leave some distance between them as if aware it could not be breached yet, that neither of them was ready to cross that space of uncertainty separating their thoughts and purposes.

As promised, the Wardens prepared to escort them to Denerim. Rolf made the announcement at breakfast and Leliana looked away, her expression clearly indicating her thoughts. Somehow he had arranged this… He hadn't. He'd not asked, he'd merely passed on the dagger and related his experience on the road the night before.

"Leli," he tried.

She looked at him, her eyes cool. "I need to organize the children."

And so began another game of tag, each catching the other's eyes repeatedly, each gazing away. Usually it was him. He looked at his boots instead, watching them for a while as they moved forward, the ground disappearing beneath his feet. But they walked together, the children between them, and between the awkward silences, they did as they always did. Rory pretended to be the staid warrior, his small legs stretching to mimic his father's stride. Grace pulled at the ribbons in her hair and requested that they be retied. Apparently they were not even. Leliana made small attempts at conversation and after giving her wounded looks the first two times, Aedan acceded and answered her questions.

"I slept fine." He had, oddly. Deeply and without dreams. He'd awoken in the exact position in which he'd fallen asleep. Trying to smooth his face into some resembling a normal smile, he returned her question. "And you?"

"Fine. You came in late."

"I went for a walk," and nearly kept going.

"I thought perhaps you'd spent the evening with…"

"No. I'm not a Warden anymore."

"They are still your brothers," she said, her tone imparting a sort of understanding.

"Leli, I…"

"Mummy, my ribbons are still not right."

Later, they tried again. Rory interrupted. Aedan fell into a brooding silence afterwards and the game of catching each other's eyes began again.

After lunch Leliana and the children kept Yrisa company on the back of the wagon and Aedan walked with Ser Travers and the Highever guards rather than the Wardens. Though Travers was close in age to Fergus, he'd known the knight his entire life and felt easy in his presence. The older man echoed Fergus's quiet manner and thoughtful attitude, and Aedan relaxed somewhat for the first time in days as he chatted amiably with an old friend. He kept an eye on the younger guard, Peter. The Wardens had looked him over that morning and asked him several questions and he seemed fine, so far. He walked oddly, but Aedan attributed his gait and his hunched shoulders to nerves. Everyone knew there was no cure for the tainted plague…

It seemed the afternoon apart had refreshed Leliana as well and as they helped set up the camp, she offered him smiles and small conciliatory comments and so he did the same, willing to smooth things over, for now.

They sat together after dinner, the children adopted by Yrisa who insisted she was not too tired to tell them a story. The Wardens and guard leaned in to hear her tale and Aedan found himself alone with his wife, finally.

"Leli, I didn't ask Rolf…"

"I know, Yrisa told me."

"Oh." Aedan felt deflated more than relieved. He'd planned that as the first part of his explanation and apology. Taking a short breath, he plunged on, knowing his words would come out in the wrong order no matter how long he thought on them, but figuring that at least getting them out there would be some sort of gesture or attempt. "I don't want to go underground at Gwaren, that's not why I'm going there. I promise you, Leli." Wardens didn't make promises… but he could.

Leliana looked at him for a long moment, really looked at him, and he knew she searched his eyes for any hint of deceit. Instead of getting angry, he merely returned her gaze, hoping she would see his sincerity.

"Aedan, I know you would not mean to…" she looked uncertain. "You get so caught up."

He frowned and pressed his lips together. What could he say to convince her of his intentions? He reached for her hand, fearing she might snatch it away. She did not. Interlacing his fingers with hers, he said quietly, "Leli, I'm a warrior, a soldier," he felt her fingers begin to tug from his and he tightened his grip, "if war came to Ferelden, either from beneath the ground or over the land and sea, I'd have to fight. Maker knows I hope that day never comes. But until it does, I just want to be a man, not a warrior." A husband and a father and supposedly a Teyrn, just like his brother. "Please believe me."

She softened. He felt it in the grip of her fingers as her hand relaxed and stopped tugging against his. She didn't answer right away though and fear crawled through him, followed by tendrils of anger. He'd laid himself open, bare, before her in a way he normally did not do outside of their bedroom. If she rejected him now…

On the other side of the campfire the low hubbub of voices seemed to rise in volume, no longer the chatter of those listening to a story. Grace whimpered, a frightened sound, and Leliana stiffened next to him before turning and pulling her hand from his grasp.

"Mummy, he's sick!" Grace called clearly.

The volume of talk grew louder still and a struggle seemed to be happening amongst three of the men, one voice above the others, "No, it's not, no!"

Peter's voice.

Aedan knew then, without a doubt, what had happened. He reached out and he felt it, the taint. Why hadn't he felt it before? Perhaps the company of the other Wardens had obscured it? Or had it been too faint? How long did it take to spread and fester?

A questioning glance to both Yrisa and Rolf confirmed his thoughts. Peter was tainted, irrevocably.

Leliana had already reached the children and she ushered them away, her voice soothing and gentle, and Aedan moved closer to the knot of men. Peter's collar had been pulled aside and there, below his neck, the unmistakable traces of the taint: a dark blotchy rash scored by a trace of horizontal lines that made no sense until he saw Peter's fingers reach to scratch again.

Though he'd been expecting it, they'd all been expecting it – Peter had been wearing the amulet for two nights – it still came as a shock. It felt like a boot to the gut, and Aedan exhaled a held breath in a great sigh as his fists clenched.

Aedan didn't normally swear, he expressed his anger physically – running and fighting and until recently, losing himself to berserk bouts of fury. For the first time since he'd left Orlais, he felt more than the tickle of rage. His limbs wanted to shake with his anger and he nearly ached with the need to express it. Peter did not deserve this fate and he did not know if he could adequately deal with the consequences of it. The guard had become tainted, effectively, by fighting for him, protecting him. And to have it happen now, when things were so…

His mouth worked around a word but did not succeed in spitting it out. His fury would serve no purpose here; he had to let it go. He had to figure out what to say to Peter, the guard was a Cousland man, his man. What did you tell a man who had to die?

Rolf and Runir approached and Aedan stared at them without seeing them for a breath.

"Commander?" Rolf asked.

Aedan blinked at the Warden. "I'm not…" he started.

"Aedan," Runir said quietly. "We only want your recommendation, he is a Highever guard."

_I know!_ Did he have to be the one to say it? Did he have to be the one to condemn an innocent man to death? "I, no…"

Runir grasped his shoulder, wrestling him out of his indecision. "Aedan, he is a soldier. There is a chance he might…" the rogue suggested quietly and the pieces fell into place.

Aedan didn't hear the groan that left his lips, but he felt it in his chest, his throat. "No," he answered instinctively, warding off thoughts of Luke, his tainting, his Joining. "No," he answered again, meaning he couldn't make the decision for them. "Oh, Maker." Aedan thought of the thin, dark line about Luke's neck, the mark that would never fade. Peter had only the small rash about his shoulder and collar bone. A Joining would be his only hope. Certain death awaited him otherwise. Why were they asking him?

Nate looked up from his attempts to keep Peter quiet and Aedan met the archer's solemn gaze.

"Do you even have what is required?" Aedan asked softly.

Rolf nodded. "Every patrol carries a preparation, just in case."

"Someone has to tell him what it means," Aedan started, "to be a Warden." He did not want to have that conversation with the guard. He could not bring himself to offer the man that choice, even if he knew it was his only chance at surviving the plague.

"I will do it," Runir replied.

Runir and Rolf went to talk to Peter and Aedan did what he had to do, he led Ser Travers and the other three guards away. They could not hear this conversation and they could not be allowed to influence Peter's choice because ultimately, it would be his choice. Die now, by the sword. Die shortly, by the cup. Or, if he was lucky, Aedan snorted, die in thirty years when the taint finally consumed him.

Aedan tried to think of something to tell the knight and his men, something reassuring. Words failed him. Ser Travers looked grim, but like a warrior, a man who had experienced battle, death and loss.

"Do they have to kill him, is there no other way?" The youngest guard asked quietly.

Aedan frowned and pressed his lips together. "There is something we can try," he said softly, his eyes and his words directed at his boots. Looking up, he caught the gaze of all four men. "It may not… halt the plague. I cannot elaborate further."

They nodded in unison, they understood. Grey Warden secrets.

Runir emerged from the shadowed stand of trees where they had taken Peter. He stood a short distance away and lifted his chin. Aedan stepped towards him and then glanced over at Leliana. He'd forgotten her. He'd been… caught up by events. The rage tickled again and he clenched his fists and changed his trajectory and walked towards his wife instead. He saw in her clear blue eyes that she understood all without being told. She knew all of his secrets, his Grey Warden secrets; what they would have to try and what that might mean.

Before he could move to her side, she said quietly, "Go with them, Aedan."

"No," he answered firmly. "My place is with you." _I am just a man._

"They are your brothers, Aedan. A Joining is a sacred thing…" she trailed off and he could see tears shining in her eyes.

"Leli." He stepped forward and she moved into him and he hugged her tightly.

"Go with them Aedan, you will hate me if you do not. It is just for tonight. Peter deserves to have the Warden Commander at his side."

"But I'm not…"

"Just for tonight…"

He understood. Releasing her, he bent to kiss his children and then turned to find Runir waiting for him. They walked off into the trees together.

Aedan had been through many Joinings and he'd hated every single one of them. Even when no one died, he still felt as if he conferred a sentence upon each man and woman who took the taint into themselves.

Despite Leliana's words, he did not stand as Commander. He neither held the cup nor said the words; he merely stood as part of the Order, a brother to the men and one woman gathered beneath the trees. But he saw that his presence did as it was supposed to and even though he winced inside, he straightened his spine as they all did, their postures meant to lend confidence to the man they surrounded.

Rolf held the cup and Runir said the words.

Peter's hand shook as he took the cup and he nearly dropped it. Rolf steadied his hands and helped him to lift it to his lips. He drank. The choking began immediately and the guard fell to the ground, clutching at his throat, his eyes white and unseeing, his legs kicking. His struggle did not last for long and afterwards he lay still in the dirt. Rolf bent to close his eyelids.

They would never know why he had not survived, they never did. Whether it took strength or purpose or resolve or fear, or if the taint had simply advanced too far within. The fact that they would have had to kill him otherwise held no comfort.

Rolf turned back towards the camp and Aedan knew that he should be the one to pass on the news, to tell Ser Travers about his guard. He laid a hand on the Warden's shoulder and shook his head.

"I will do it."

Dispassion temporarily won out over his anger and Aedan embraced it as he told Ser Travers that Peter had died and that they would burn him now, pay him all proper respects. Presently the entire camp came together for the funeral. It struck him as odd that this might be the first time any outside the Order had witnessed the result of a failed Joining. Normally they returned from the hill behind Amaranthine having already accomplished this task, the missing men and women, posthumously named brothers and sisters, already sent to the Maker, their empty places in the dining hall unremarked upon and silently cleared away.

Leliana said a few words, her recall of the Chant eloquent and fitting.

He tried not to dwell on the fact his children watched a funeral pyre for the second time in a few days. Death was a part of life, he told himself. At least this time they'd not witnessed the death. Their small faces held solemn expressions and they held his hands tightly as if afraid he'd let them go otherwise.

"Do they understand?" Aedan asked Leliana afterward as he lay with her in their tent, holding her against him, needing the comfort of her in his arms and grateful she was willing to give it, despite their differences.

Rolling her head to the side to check their sleeping children, Leliana murmured, "I think they do, more than we might guess." She turned back to him. "Are you alright?"

"No," he answered immediately and honestly.

He wasn't alright and he felt keenly the loss of a man he'd barely known. He felt the remorse he always did after a failed Joining and the aftermath of the anxiety. He felt the bond of his brothers, aware of the scent of the taint surrounding the camp. He felt the sadness and the fear of death. He would dream tonight, he knew he would. He always did after a Joining. He would dream of Luke, most likely. The same nightmare he had fought for nearly three years.

But he was alive, and he was present. He did not feel even the slightest temptation to flee or hide within the nothingness.

"No, I not alright," he said softly again, turning to kiss his wife gently. And then he whispered against her cheek, "But I am here."


	10. The One, the Only

_A/N: Jessica, Luke's girlfriend, was introduced in _The Birds and the Bees_. She is a kitchen maid at Amaranthine. I need to write a little more for the pair of them, I think! The book – you'll need to read the other story for an explanation on that one…_

The One, the Only

"Quit bouncin' and get those blades up."

Luke looked at his feet and Oghren took the opportunity to swing the two handed hammer he held towards the young Warden's hip. The blow did not land heavily; the dwarf had enough control to pull the strike. In fact, if anyone had the ability to merely 'tap' armour with a two handed hammer, it would be Oghren. The bump would cause a bruise most likely, and it certainly gained Luke's attention. His head snapped up and his blades lowered again.

"I thought some hero or something taught you how to fight," Oghren said. The lift of his whiskers tended to indicate he was smiling behind his moustache and Luke grinned in return.

"Sorry, Oghren, I'm a bit distracted."

Aedan and Leliana were due to arrive in Denerim that day, though it would be later in the afternoon or perhaps toward the evening. Hours and hours away.

"Really? Couldn't tell. Thought perhaps you needed to take a leak… you know, the bouncin'?"

Luke looked at his feet again and made a conscious effort not to move. But he felt it, the bouncing, inside. He couldn't help it; he looked forward to seeing his family again. When he glanced up his excitement was written all over his face in a wide smile.

The dwarf made a scoffing sound that came out like something between a cough and a chuckle. "You're as bad as that mate of yours, Peers. Think you can frighten off the darkspawn with a goofy smile, eh?"

"No, Oghren, I don't. And I don't see any darkspawn about right now, just a dwarf who might be wearing a big smile too. Hard to tell though, under all that hair."

"Argh!" Oghren raised his hammer in a mock threat. "You young," he muttered something unintelligible and possibly dwarven. "Go play with yourself or something."

"Oh, our young friend has moved on from playing with himself."

Zevran appeared as he always did when talk turned towards the more private sort of activities and Luke felt a blush creeping up the back of his neck. The elf had caught him kissing a kitchen maid in the pantry at Vigil's Keep. A long and interesting conversation later, Zevran seemed to think he and Jessica had moved on from groping in the pantry. And while they had, sort of, they'd not gone so far that he no longer needed to play with… Maker's breath. Anyway, he was stationed in Denerim now. He'd not get a chance to see her until he returned to Amaranthine. Such was the life of a Warden.

Luke cleared his throat. "Zevran. Come to taunt me or would you care for a little practice?"

"Can I not do both?"

Laughing, Luke conceded the point. "Sure."

The elf's daggers seemed to materialize in his hands and Luke took an instinctive step back. He'd learned not to get to close to Zevran until he wanted to attempt a strike. He raised his sword and dagger and began moving to the left. Not his favourite side, but he needed the practice and Zevran would certainly provide it. With a flash of steel, Zevran launched directly into a flurry and Luke ducked back to the right, turning as he did so and using his momentum to fling his sword out in a strike at his opponent's ribs. The edge of his blade might catch an opening there, beneath a raised arm. The flat of his blade would score a point. But against Zevran, he scored only air as the elf spun in the same direction, bringing his daggers with him.

Luke parried with his dagger and lunged forward again with his sword. Zevran knocked the longer blade aside and slipped between his guard with his other dagger, sweeping it upward, the tip ringing off the splint mail Luke wore for practice. The young Warden winced.

After the initial excitement, the match settled into a more practiced exchange of blows, more suited to practice and less to injury. Relaxing a little, Luke kept pace with the elf for a while before his mind wandered again. He didn't tend to think about Jessica overmuch. While he missed her company, their long walks and quiet chats and somewhat passionate embraces, he knew deep down that she wasn't the one, the only. Not as Leliana was to Aedan. He didn't know why he felt that way, he liked Jessica a lot, he just didn't love her. He didn't think she loved him either; they just seemed to get along well enough together. They seemed to accept that at their age there should be illicit groping in the pantry and some rather more daring activities in the hayloft, but that anything else would represent a commitment neither of them was ready to make. His life as a Warden probably precluded having children, so likely he could sleep with her and not worry she'd fall pregnant, but Jessica did not know that and he wasn't allowed to tell her. So they held off and generally, Luke didn't mind.

Maybe one day he'd meet her, the one, or perhaps he wouldn't. At just eighteen, he had plenty of time, even taking the taint into account.

"Ouch!"

"I think you might have more luck playing with yourself." Zevran withdrew his daggers and gave Luke a considering look.

Luke rubbed at his wrist and twisted his lips. "Sorry."

"You are the one with the bruises, my friend. What is on your mind?"

"Well, Aedan and Leliana are due today." He started with the obvious, not really looking to get into another relationship talk with the Antivan.

"Mmhm," Zevran murmured. "But it has only been about six weeks since you left Highever. What else is on your mind?" He leaned in and whispered, "I have the book with me, you know. In case you need refer to something."

"No you don't," Luke retorted. There was no way that large book could have fit into Zevran's pack…

"It has a chapter on self…"

"Zevran, please."

"You said I could taunt you!" The elf pouted.

Luke sighed and, as the heat left his cheeks, shook his head and chuckled.

"You have been away from Amaranthine for about three months, it is only natural that you miss Jessica," Zevran said in a more conciliatory tone.

"That doesn't mean I need instruction on how to, you know."

Zevran laughed. "Of course not, I only sought to cheer you."

"I am cheerful. Aedan and Leli arrive today!"

With a shrug the elf answered, "Suit yourself." He raised his daggers. "Shall we?"

Luke glanced up to check the angle of the sun; it had not passed its zenith. "Yeah…"

"We could continue talking about Jessica if that interested you more."

Before he even stopped to properly consider his words, Luke asked, "Zev, you don't see Kayley for months, yet you never seem to miss her."

For a moment he thought Zevran might give him a flippant answer. Then his features settled into and expression he'd seen before, but not often. The elf looked pensive, almost wistful. "I do miss her, Luke. I just do not wear my heart on my sleeve as others do."

Like Aedan and Leli did. When they were in a room together, no one else existed. That was what Luke wanted one day, that kind of love. "I'm not in love with Jessica or anything…" he said, his tone sounding perhaps more sad than he intended. He did miss her, he supposed, maybe even for her friendship more than anything else. She was sweet and kind and most importantly, not a Warden. They didn't talk about darkspawn or sword technique or… women. "What's your opinion on love? Do you think there is just one person for everyone?"

"No. I think there are different people and different kinds of love."

Luke waited for Zevran to bring up the Nevarran goat farmer and found it almost odd when he didn't.

"Do you love Kayley?"

"'Course he does!" Oghren boomed.

Luke resisted the urge to jump. How did a dwarf manage to sneak up behind him? A quick glance at Zevran confirmed no such surprise, but then again, the day someone managed to sneak up on Zevran would be the day Wardens took to the sky on griffons once more.

"Otherwise he wouldn't creep back to his bed alone every night, would he?" Oghren almost sounded as if he was sniggering.

"I do not creep," Zevran retorted, a half smile playing over his lips.

"You _do_ sort of do the stealth thing…" Luke pointed out.

"Which is less fun at the fort than it was at the palace."

And somehow they'd got off the subject of Kayley and whether or not Zevran loved the elven rogue. Luke suspected he did. Oghren was right, he never seemed to stray and all his ribald talk tended to indicate Zevran had certainly been prone to dalliance before he'd met her.

"I think I'm done training today," Luke said, rubbing his wrist and shifting his sore hip. Grinning at Zevran and Oghren he added, "Want to go visit his Majesty? See if he's torn out clumps of his hair yet? Worn a track in the rug, making lists?"

"Oh, I'd reckon he's already waiting at the gates," Oghren said.

"Or he could be in the royal apartments. I have heard pregnant women get quite…"

"**Zevran!**" Luke and Oghren said at the same time.

"It is well known…"

Luke put his hands over his ears and Oghren thumped Zevran on the shoulder.

"What? What? Would you rather talk about Jessica or," the elf turned his head towards Oghren, "Felsi…"

Oghren made a deep, growling sound and Luke took a step back. Zevran pressed his lips together and jerked his head towards the palace, sweeping his hand out in a gesture that said, 'shall we?'

The three stowed their weapons, removed their armour and took the time to grab a snack from the dining room before they left the fort. They walked the short distance to the palace at a relaxed pace, chatting easily as men did and Luke felt that anticipatory bounce start in his chest again. Though the palace stood nowhere near the gates and a couple of hours remained before he'd see Aedan and Leliana, Alistair provided his own sort of fun lately. Watching the king fawn over his pregnant wife was about the most fun they'd had since Zevran taught him how to cheat at cards. Not that he'd tried it yet, despite the elf's taunts. As they walked along, Luke chuckled at the memory.

"'Bout time Alistair managed to shoot straight," Oghren mused as they crested the stairs leading to the Landsmeet Chamber. "I was beginning to think we needed to have a talk."

Luke rolled his eyes and Zevran raised his brows. Being the only one of the three who knew how against the odds this child would be, Ferelden's youngest Warden chose to play along rather than say anything that could be misconstrued. Zevran would catch the slightest hint and had ways of learning the truth that had nothing to do with the instruments of torture below Fort Drakon and everything to do with a certain book he did _not_ have in his pack.

Luke looked forward to meeting Alistair and Brenna's child. He loved his own little brother and sister, though he'd never say it quite like that. He told people they were alright. Cute. Fun to play with, for little kids. He'd not see them as much when they moved to Gwaren – and he still couldn't quite get over the idea of Leliana not being in Denerim – but soon he'd have a niece, nephew, cousin, some sort of relation that was not a relation? Their family ties were blurred… through adoption and brotherhood and bonds that went beyond simple friendship. He would think of the heir to the throne as family, someone he could care for and be responsible to.

They entered the palace, the human, the elf and the dwarf, without a single guard appearing to take particular notice; the odd trio were regular visitors. The three made their way to Alistair's office and, as always, the door stood open. Alistair was not at his desk. A muffled thump followed by a soft curse suggested the King of Ferelden might be under his desk. Then the familiar, red-gold head appeared over the edge and hazel eyes blinked at the three unannounced visitors.

"Your Majesty," Oghren said, performing a proper salute. Luke followed suit, Zevran merely dipped his head.

Alistair stood up and looked awkward and Luke felt his lips twitching as he tried to suppress a grin. The king recovered quickly though, his usual easy smile settling into place as he gestured his friends towards chairs and the couch.

Luke noticed he had a crumpled up ball of paper in his hand. He eyed it curiously as Zevran asked after it.

"Another list of candidates, Alistair?"

Alistair looked at the balled up paper in his hand with a dismal expression. Luke knew he'd been interviewing various nobles for the position of chancellor over the past two weeks. Apparently he'd even asked Zevran to take the job, and he'd had a meeting with Peers! The young noble had walked towards the palace as if the gallows had awaited him. He'd looked quite pale upon his return, but said that the King had only wanted to chat about the Free Marches, which had made no sense to either of them.

"A list of unsuitable replacements." Alistair looked at Luke. "Do you think she would…"

"No, don't ask her, Alistair."

"Not even until I…"

Luke and Zevran and Oghren all gave him a look and Alistair closed his mouth. He bounced the paper ball in his hand and then tossed it towards the couch, a slightly out of place pout on his face. Zevran batted it back and Alistair blinked as it hit him in the stomach.

"You need a hobby, Alistair," the Antivan said. "Something to take your mind off of all this," he waved his hand about, "kingly business."

"I _am_ King, Zevran." Alistair chuckled. "And I have hobbies."

Luke scrunched his brow in thought. What _did_ Alistair do for fun?

"Such as…?" Zevran prompted.

Alistair looked thoughtful. "I… read."

"I've seen what you read, your Majesty, doesn't look like fun to me. There aren't even pictures in those books," Oghren said.

"What are your hobbies, Oghren?"

"Drinking," Zevran answered drily.

The dwarf turned to the elf and said, "Nothin' wrong with that. And we all know what your hobbies are, don't we?" He winked rather obviously. Zevran rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Oghren, I assassinate people and then creep back to my room, alone."

Luke chuckled and Alistair turned to him, that one brow arched upwards. "What do you do for fun then, Luke?"

The young man shrugged. "I fish, play cards," spend time with Jessica, "… um, read. I tried drawing, wasn't really very good at it. Leli taught me to play a pipe, but Aedan begged me to stop, said sounded like I'd stood on a cat's tail."

"You forgot to mention Jessica," Zevran… purred?

But he had, just not out loud?

"Who is Jessica?"

"His girl!" Oghren exclaimed.

Alistair looked stunned and then proud. Why did men always look proud when they found out he had a girlfriend?

Luke refused to blush and his cheeks complied. Instead he glanced at the window and said, "It's getting on towards afternoon, should we head down to the gates?"

Everyone got that bouncy look and Luke grinned, glad he wasn't the only one looking forward to seeing Aedan and Leliana again. They collected Brenna on their way and Alistair fussed over her and she gave him a familiar, long suffering look. Then they made their way to the gates and didn't have long to wait.

The approaching party looked larger than he'd expected and then he realised they'd met up with the Northern Patrol. The Wardens passed through the gates first, saluted their King and then greeted their brothers. Luke could tell something was wrong the minute he saw their faces. Wardens could be a grim lot, but their collective expressions were more terse than usual.

Aedan and Leliana approached and aside from the reflected grimness in their expressions, they looked well, albeit tired. Two small bodies detached themselves from them and flew forward, hands and arms outstretched.

"Luke!"

He crouched down and they flew into his embrace. They looked no different after only six weeks but still he hugged them gladly and accepted Grace's kisses and Rory's firm little arm around his neck.

When he was allowed to stand again, Aedan and Leliana were there. Leli hugged him first, her usual embrace; warm, affectionate and motherly. Aedan caught him in a crushing hug next, and Luke chuckled as he felt his bones creak. Aedan always held on too tight. After he'd stepped back though, he noticed the distance between the pair of them. It might have seemed a small thing to another, to one who did not know them so well. But to Luke, who watched his adoptive parents with a certain possessiveness, the space between them was glaringly obvious. They were not even holding hands, they were not touching. Aedan and Leliana always touched, always. And they weren't looking at each other.

He caught Leliana's eye and he saw that she knew what he'd seen. Her lips curved in a familiar smile, the one she showed the world, and she squeezed his shoulder gently.

"You look well, Luke."

"I am, Leli." He glanced after Aedan who had stepped forward to greet Alistair, then turned back to Leli. "What happened?" he asked simply.

"We ran in to trouble on the road. Ghouls and bandits."

Luke felt a shiver travel down his spine. Ghouls. Ever since the plague the occasional band of ghouls had turned up outside the city. They tended to stick together, some of them aware of why they were fleeing, others already mindless. The amulets affected people differently to begin with, but the end was always the same. Death. A story from Dragon's Peak recounted a farmer and his son dispatching a small band of ghouls and the son becoming tainted in the process, the father had then turned his weapon upon his own son. It wasn't true; the Wardens had gone to investigate it and had found no traces of ghoul activity in the area. Rumours and stories like that made the rounds of the inns and taverns now and again. But the story had shaken Luke nonetheless. It was too close to his own tale and though it felt no different, his fingers traced the thin, dark line about his neck, the constant reminder of the taint he now carried within.

He'd not heard of them north though, only in the city and to the south. With the Mage dead, no one would be making anymore amulets and eventually they'd round up all those out there, but in the meantime, stories and encounters would continue.

Then what Leliana had said finally registered. "Ghouls _and_ bandits, in… the same group?"

She nodded. "They were looking for Aedan."

"The ghouls?" he said stupidly.

"Both. The Wardens think they were working together," Leli said and Luke nodded, grateful she was being so forthcoming. For a long time no one had told him anything, for his own protection of course. He liked being treated like a man he decided.

"Is everyone alright?"

She shook her head. "Peter, one of the guard," he nodded, he knew Peter, "he became tainted. He found one of the amulets and wore it for two nights."

"Maker, even half a day is…"

She nodded.

Luke turned on his heel and looked for Peter, knowing he wouldn't see the guard, that he'd already been 'dealt with'…

"Where…?"

"A day outside of Eastvale." She paused. "They tried to… save him."

He interpreted that as: The Wardens had attempted a Joining. Luke dropped his gaze to the cobbles and swallowed. No wonder Aedan had nearly broken his ribs. Was that why Aedan and Leliana seemed somewhat estranged? Had Aedan been having nightmares again? He felt he'd missed something, some connection between the events and their behaviour, but didn't get the time to ponder if further as voices dropped around them and then he heard a quiet sound and a giggle and a soft admonishment from Alistair.

"Be careful of her, Aedan."

He turned to see Aedan loosening his grip on the diminutive queen, a look of joy on his face. Leliana pressed forward, her face lighting in… relief(?) before reflecting Aedan's happiness and suddenly everyone was hugging again and patting shoulders, the news of Brenna's pregnancy spreading much needed cheer amongst the group.

Leliana moved on to hug Alistair and the King bent forward to whisper in her ear. As he'd been watching the pair so avidly, Luke saw Aedan watching Leliana and as if she felt the weight of his gaze, Leliana turned and looked at her husband. They exchanged a quizzical glance. The moment passed, but Luke filed away the odd exchange. He didn't know what it meant or how it related to the odd distance between them. Sensing movement at his side, he saw Zevran looking at something else. Turning to follow the elf's gaze, he noticed Marin looking at Leliana. He recognised the look; it was the sort of look a man gives a woman when he thinks no one else is watching. Luke turned to Zevran to comment, but the elf's attention was elsewhere. Luke started to feel as if he'd fallen into someone else's life, or a story about people he didn't know. What in Maker's name was going on?

Again he had no time to think over things as the party moved towards the palace. The Wardens and guards continued on to the fort leaving Aedan and Leliana with the King. Luke lingered and Leliana moved to his side.

Looping her arm through his, she asked, "Will you stay with us at the palace, Luke?"

Luke grinned. "Of course I will, Leli."

After making arrangements to meet for a quiet supper after the travelers had refreshed themselves, the family arrived at their suite of rooms in the palace. Despite Leliana's impending move to Denerim, this suite would always be retained by the Couslands. Alistair had insisted, saying "The palace is too big for me to learn the way to somewhere else when I _need_ to visit you." Everyone had chuckled at his use of the word 'need'. It was typical of Alistair's humour.

Aedan held open the door and the children rushed into the familiar rooms with happy sounds. Luke grinned as he filed in last, following Leliana. Everything felt sort of normal again. They were home and it was just the five of them and everyone had smiles on their faces. Luke swept down to catch his younger brother and sister again, tickling them and gaining joy from the ordinary sound of their laughter.

Turning to face Aedan and Leliana, Luke said, "Let me settle the young ones, play with them, have them fall asleep on me. I'm sure you two could use some time to, you know," he shrugged and tried not to blush while wondering if he was being entirely too transparent, "wash up or rest or whatever." Maybe their distance was because they needed a good bath? Or they'd not had a moment alone because of the children and the one tent and the ghouls and…

"Thank you, Luke," Leliana answered and she gave him a brief hug.

Turning towards Aedan, she held out her hand. Aedan slipped his fingers into hers and Luke felt as if he might sag with relief as their hands joined. They were alright. They were just tired. They just needed some time alone. Together. They were still each other's one and only.


	11. Wandering Memories

Wandering Memories

Fergus dreamed first of the Korcari Wilds. He and Travers and the small contingent of men they'd taken on a scouting mission had been cut off from the rest of the King's army by a roving band of darkspawn. They lost two of their number fighting the creatures and both he had Travers had taken light wounds. The mages at Ostagar told them to wash any wounds promptly with water and they did so before resuming their patrol, determined to find the source of the band of darkspawn so they could report back to King Cailan.

A second group of the foul creatures had fallen upon them and they were so lucky in the second battle. Fergus had been wounded badly enough that Travers feared to move him. His armour was sundered, several ribs were fractured, one puncturing his lung. The bone of his shield arm was broken in three places and a blow to his helm knocked him unconscious for the better part of two days. Travers had also been injured; a gash through his armour and into his shoulder that looked so horrific, both men had feared he would lose his arm. Of their original band of six men, only three of them survived that battle. The third, Ser Maitland, made it out of the wilds with them only to die when they retook Highever.

The Chasind saved them in the wilds. A healer tended their wounds, a swamp witch, Maitland called her. But despite magic being used, it still took weeks for the men to regain their strength. The old woman did not have a large pool of mana, or the discipline of a circle mage. It took her several days to deal with their injuries one by one and she did not use magic at all in some instances. Fergus had heard tales of Wilder mages whose power equaled tower trained mages, but apparently this clan was not possessed of one of these more powerful healers. He never doubted that they might have died without the care they did receive though, and he thanked the clan then and afterwards the Maker, often.

Eventually they were well enough to travel and returned to Ostagar. Of course, they found nothing but destruction. And then began the long journey back to Highever, dodging darkspawn and Loghain's men, only to find his childhood home in the clutches of Rendon Howe and his family slain. It wasn't until a Landsmeet was called that he found out that not only was Aedan still alive, but led the King's army in the name of Alistair Theirin, the royal bastard. He'd had his hands full ridding Highever of Howe's men and hadn't made the journey to Denerim until the coronation, as Teyrn, a title he'd not been ready to hold.

In his dream, Fergus found himself in the hut that had been his home for the weeks it had taken for his bones to set properly. Sitting beside him was the witch, an old woman who had yet to take an apprentice.

"Why do you have no apprentice?" he asked her.

He cringed at his own impertinence, stunned that the words had passed his lips.

"I do have one."

"He is not here with you, how is he learning?" How had he known it was a 'he'?

"He is out there," she said, gesturing the wilds. "Learning."

"But shouldn't you be teaching him?"

"I have taught him a little."

"Then how will he learn the rest?" Fergus asked.

"By doing."

"But what if he does it wrong?"

"Then he will do it another way." She sounded confident in the way only an elder can.

The interior of the hut changed and Fergus found himself in the library at Highever. His father sat across the table from him.

Fergus asked, "Why won't you let Aedan come with me?"

"He is not ready."

"I am not ready, yet you are sending me at the head of your men."

"You have learned all I can teach, Fergus. Now you have to do the rest on your own."

He felt that combination of pride and fear, the same as he'd felt that day, the last day he'd seen his father alive.

"This is your time, Fergus. I have every confidence in you."

"Father…"

Fergus opened his eyes. At first he thought he'd returned to the hut in the wilds. The cool, dry atmosphere tickled his nose in a familiar way and he lay on the floor, something bundled within his arms. Glancing upwards, he the ragged patch of sky above the rough chimney and memory returned him to the cave with a thud. He had his coat tangled about his arms and he lay on the dirt floor of a cavern. But where was Lucy? For an absurd moment he thought she might have been a part of his dream, but then he saw her satchel just behind the patch of light on the ground and soon after he heard her footsteps as she returned.

"Morning, my lord," she said brightly.

Sitting up, Fergus bowed his head and said in return, "Morning, my lady."

Lucy chuckled. "Well aren't we formal. Doesn't make up for the cold, bare accommodations though, does it."

Fergus laughed and Lucy blushed then laughed, covering her mouth with both hands. "Fergus," she said finally, her voice a strangled squeak. "Oh, pardon me; I do _not_ know what possessed me."

Grinning, he stood up and brushed off his clothes before waving off her apology. "No, you are right! I will have to find another way to make it up to you."

"No, Fergus, no. I didn't mean…"

"It would be the least I could do, after failing to rescue you properly. I will treat you to dinner, my lady," he bowed and chuckled, feeling silly, but continuing anyway, "We'll sit in real chairs and eat whatever you like, except mushrooms."

Lucy chuckled and gave her satchel a pointed look. "Speaking of which, fancy some breakfast?"

Fergus groaned.

After their meal of mushrooms, Fergus hoisted Lucy up through the fissure again to see if she could see anything – castle walls, dogs, people…

"If you see a rabbit, see if you can lure it closer," he suggested.

She shook with laughter, one of her boots slipping against his shoulder.

"You'll not catch one making all that noise," he called up.

When he let her back down, she grinned up at him and asked, "Are you always this cheerful in the mornings?"

"No. Usually I've had too much ale and have a sore head."

Lucy tsked and laughed again.

"You think I'm kidding?" He chuckled. "Well, I am a bit," he admitted. "Now that Aedan is gone I've no one to drink with every night, so I suppose better mornings are on my horizon!"

"Oh, I've heard stories about you and Travers…"

"Who keeps telling you all these stories?"

"Travers…"

Fergus grumbled. "He's supposed to be a knight, discreet, you know."

"Oh, he is. He won't tell me what happened that night the four of you got locked in the larder, with one of the kitchen maids, who happened to have a lovely little daughter eight months later…"

He blinked at her. People thought…?

"She rescued us, she wasn't actually in the larder with us…" for very long, or long enough… "and babies usually take nine months, you know."

"I heard she was very small."

"Well it's not mine." The baby didn't belong to any of them, so far as he knew, or at least, it hadn't been conceived that night. But obviously that hadn't stopped the rumours flying.

"No, she doesn't look much like your or Aedan."

"This is a highly inappropriate topic of conversation, you know…" He tried to look stern.

Lucy threw back her head and laughed. "Inappropriate to… dirt floors and rocky walls? You have no shoes on."

Fergus looked down and felt his mouth twitch. "Well, when I take you to dinner, my lady, I will wear shoes, and we'll have no such talk of pantries and kitchen maids."

"And no mushrooms."

"And no mushrooms," he readily agreed.

In a gentlemanly gesture, he offered her his arm. Lucy smiled at him and he looked at her face in the filtered light that slanted down through the chimney. She had hazel eyes, he noticed, just like her brother, and they were bright with humour and well being despite the smudges across her cheeks and the state of her hair. She had a heart shaped face with a narrow chin, full cheeks and a high forehead. He'd seen her in better repair and knew that beneath the dirt she had freckles across her nose and that when tamed, her brown curls framed her face in an attractive way. He had a feeling, however, that he would long remember her as she looked now – disheveled, wild, and yet somehow happy.

"You do realise," he said quietly, "that dinner is not until we find a way out of these caves."

She slipped her arm through his. "Then we had better get a move on, hadn't we?"

The headed again towards the dark passage of the day before and as they slowly navigated the inky blackness, Fergus let his mind wander back to the time the four of them – he, Aedan, Roland and Travers – had got locked in the larder.

The castle had been quiet. The elder Couslands had left to visit Denerim, leaving him in charge. That late in the season there'd been little other to do than break into his father's brandy collection and keep Aedan and Roland from burning the castle down. He'd been twenty five and both Aedan and Roland had been seventeen.

Travers joined him for an after dinner drink (another excuse to try a different bottle of brandy) and they saw Aedan and Roland saunter past the dining room door looking altogether too nonchalant. They had to follow, of course. The younger pair paused before the kitchen and tried to shoo them away.

"We're just getting something to eat," Aedan said, eyeing the kitchen nervously.

"Right, and maybe a drink," Rory had added, looking horribly guilty. Aedan had been a better liar as a youth, oddly. Rory had never been adept.

"You just had dinner," Fergus pointed out.

Travers lifted his glass, which he'd thoughtfully brought with him. Ever pragmatic, Travers was. "Come have a drink with us."

Aedan made a face. "I don't like brandy."

"So what's in the kitchen then?"

"Food?" Aedan quipped, his expression turning rather cheeky.

Travers got right to the point. "Boys, you either tell us what you're up to or you come drink brandy with us. It's not so terrible a choice…"

It also hadn't really made sense? But then again, they were on to their third glass.

Rory crumbled, earning a glare from Aedan. "There's a book, in the pantry. We just wanted to get it."

"A book?" Fergus asked.

"Not the sort a gentleman would want to keep in his room, perhaps?" Travers guessed.

The blush on both faces suggested he'd hit his mark.

Of course all of them went in to look at the book. Why hadn't they taken it back to the dining room or the library? No one was going to catch them with it that late at night. Probably because Aedan started eating, he'd always had an appetite even before becoming a Warden. Travers saw the cheese and suggested that it would go well with the brandy and left to get the bottle. Rory collapsed onto the flour sacks with the book and Fergus found a cask of ale. In retrospect, not a lot of what they did when they were young made sense…

Travers, being the careful sort, closed the door after himself when he returned, the lock clicking into place to joint yells from both Aedan and Rory.

"Don't close the door!"

"Why?"

"The lock is broken!"

How did they know this? Copious visits to the book, no doubt. In between jiggling the useless handle and having it fall off in one of their hands, brandy was poured, ale drunk and cheese eaten. The book provided all the entertainment the impromptu party needed. It wasn't until one of them expressed a need to relieve themselves that they'd really become concerned about the door. It took an hour of banging and yelling to rouse the maid that came to their rescue and by that time three of them had used a mixing bowl set into the corner as a privy. That had been… embarrassing.

Nan had screamed over that more than the fact they'd eaten half a wheel of cheese, two loaves of bread, a jar of pickled vegetables (he could always remember her mentioning them, but not actually having eaten them) and managed to puncture two flour sacks.

Fergus chuckled.

Lucy brought him back to the present. "Copper for your thoughts? A silver if they're that amusing."

"I was thinking about the larder, and Aedan. He was such a contrast, even as a boy. Serious one minute and completely disarming the next."

"I'd say he's not changed much then."

"In many ways, not at all…" But he had. Fergus knew his younger brother was still there, still essentially the same man, but, Maker… he'd never seen anyone so broken. Yet underneath it all he was still so …Aedan. A fierce wave of love for his little brother washed through him then, and he sent a fervent prayer to the Maker for the well being of his little brother, Leliana and their children. They were all he had.

Lucy squeezed his hand, which she'd been holding in the dark. "He's a good man, like you. He'll make a good Teyrn."

Once again he smiled into the darkness. "Like me?"

He heard her chuckle. "Do you doubt it?"

"All the time, Lucy."

She remained silent for a moment and he feared he had overstepped, admitted something he should not have. Finally she replied. "It may have come upon you unexpectedly, but you rose to the challenge. Highever holds you in great esteem, Fergus."

He remembered his dream, his father's words: _This is your time, Fergus. I have every confidence in you._

"Thank you," he answered quietly.

After another bout of silence, the companionable sort, Fergus noted the passage looked less dark ahead and he pointed it out to Lucy. They quickened their pace as best as they could given the dark, the uneven floor and the fact that he wore no shoes. He stubbed his toe for about the thirtieth time and hissed.

"Your ankle?"

"My toes."

The now familiar scent of elfroot wafted through the air.

"I don't need it."

"Are you sure?"

"Lucy, if we're stuck down here for much longer, we might have to save it for dinner." A soft grunt greeted his comment and he followed up with, "Not funny, I know."

The passage brightened as they turned a corner and Fergus glanced up to see yet another fissure above their heads. The light shining through was a dispirited grey and Fergus smelled the rain before they saw it. They paused beneath the crack in the rock and let the water trickle over their faces.

It felt wonderful. Fergus stepped back to let Lucy wash her face and then he did the same. They grinned at each other in the vague light, unreasonably happy to be standing under a small trickle of water and a crack of grey sky. Lucy had wet her hair a little and strands stuck to her cheeks and Fergus reached out to smooth one back, the gesture totally unconscious. Her skin felt cool and damp beneath his fingers and she dropped her eyes and moved to smooth the rest of her hair away from her cheek in a nervous gesture. Fergus dropped his fingers in embarrassment.

He cleared his throat to apologise and then he heard… barking.

His heart leapt in his chest, he knew the sound immediately and so did Lucy. The hounds.

"They are looking for you."

"Maybe they are looking for you," he quipped and she chuckled. Assuming a more serious mien, he said, "Lucy, I don't think they will hear us down here, or be able to find us from this fissure. We either need to move forward or go back to that wider hole."

"How long do you think we've been walking?"

"About two hours."

"Let's go forward a bit."

He agreed with her – if they went back to the other cavern, they'd never make the original hole in the ground by nightfall and without the cracks and occasional chimney to light their way, they might wander in circles all night.

Half an hour later they stumbled into another cavern, one not lit by a fissure, but they could feel the space opening about them. They walked around the wall and Fergus kicked something that was not a rock. It felt light, wooden. He bent down to retrieve it and discovered a cluster of objects – a sack, some straw, a stack of wood that felt so dry some of it seemed to crumble beneath his fingers, and a dagger, rusted by the feel. Fergus knew where he was.

"Lucy, I know where we are."

"You do?"

"Yes, I've found one of our stashes, Aedan's and mine. We used to bring stuff to the caves with us. This stuff might have been here for… fifteen or twenty years."

"What did you find?" She sounded excited.

Fergus felt through the sack and found what he'd been looking for, the flint and steel. Handing her one of the old pieces of wood he wrapped straw about the end and then struck a spark. It caught immediately, the desiccated straw flaring brightly and burning quickly. Using the small amount of light, he surveyed the rest of the objects on the floor and found a stack of proper torches, their pitch ends still black. He lit one and set it into a niche carved into the wall for it and they both blinked in the flickering light.

Her face had become familiar to him over the past two days and he noted immediately the differences lent by the warmer light of the torch. But rather than study her too long, still feeling discomfited by his earlier gesture, he looked down instead, towards the stack of wood and torches.

"Do you remember the way out from here?" Lucy asked.

"Not offhand, I think we're about half a day's walk in though."

She nodded. "What about the nearest chimney or crack?" So they could alert the searchers.

Fergus twisted his mouth a moment and rubbed at his forehead. He turned on his heel and scanned the far side of the cavern. A dark opening indicated the continuation of the system of tunnels beneath the rock that connected these caverns. "It's been too long. There are many though, we'll find one. It's what always drew us to these caves; we could walk so far in without carrying torches."

"But you brought some anyway?"

Fergus chuckled at the memory. "We were planning a deeper expedition." Nodding at the sack he said, "There is probably a decade old wheel of cheese and a petrified loaf of bread in that sack.

Lucy almost looked interested and he laughed.

They found a fissure wide enough to yell through about half an hour later and Fergus climbed the wall, digging his raw and scraped toes into the rock and grasping at crevices with his fingers until his he got as high as he could. Then he listened. He could hear the dogs, somewhat distantly. Had they been able to follow his scent to the original hole or had the rain already obscured it? He yelled.

"Ho!"

He had no idea if anyone heard him and he felt somewhat ridiculous yelling up into the rock, but he kept it up for about half an hour. The barking began to veer towards them, but he couldn't hold onto the wall any longer, his toes had gone numb and his fingers had cramped. He dropped to the floor and then took off his coat and climbed again and started stuffing it up through the crack in the rock, using the end of an unlit torch to push it beyond the reach of his arm until it emerged into the forest, a beacon of blue cloth and hopefully, smell. The dogs would catch it.

They did.

He heard them approach and he climbed again.

"Hello!"

"My lord?"

He could hear the confusion as they apparently spoke to a coat that stuck in crack in the ground. The coat moved and then slipped from the hole and three whiskered muzzles replaced it. Fergus grinned at the sight and called down to Lucy.

"It's them, they've found us."

Back through the hole he called. "Yes, it's Fergus. I fell down one of the sink holes near the mouth of the river. I'm here with Lucinda Ryan and we are both well." He'd save the explanation – his failed rescue – for later. "Do you know the large cave entrance behind the hill, the one near the orchards? We will emerge from there in approximately four hours." Less if he could help it.

"Yes, my lord. We'll send someone in from that way to find you."

Fergus dropped down to the ground and Lucy's arms swept about him in a quick hug. He hugged her back and felt her bounce lightly in the circle of his arms.

"We are saved!" she said before letting him go, stepping back, her cheeks lightly flushed.

He grinned widely at her and said, "Don't thank me yet, we've still a few hours to go."

They stood smiling at each other, both seeming to fairly vibrate with happiness and relief.

"I suppose we should stop grinning like idiots and start walking," Lucy said.

"Did you just call the Teyrn an idiot?"

Lucy chuckled beneath her blush. "I think I just did."

Fergus laughed quietly. "Come on, let's go. My stomach is cramping thinking about what's in Nan's pantry."

"Hopefully something other than a filthy book." Lucy murmured.

"He told you about the book too?"

Lucy's chuckles lifted his spirits further and buoyed his step and with the torch they made good time; he didn't have to shuffle along with his bruised toes and they could walk at a near normal pace. After an hour they came to an intersection and Fergus hesitated. He chose left, letting instinct guide him and after they walked for an hour without interruption, he knew he'd made the right choice. The other direction, he seemed to remember, led to another cavern and probably another stash of moldy cheese and hard bread.

Another hour and Fergus found it hard to keep his pace even as his excitement built. He began leaning forward as he walked and craning his head about every rock as if he expected to see light or the mouth of the cave. The passage hadn't widened quite enough yet. He recalled that the first part of the system of caves was quite airy and properly cavernous.

They didn't talk a lot as they walked, except to pass the occasional comment on a feature they passed. An unusual rock formation, a small pool where they stopped again to drink and grudgingly eat more mushrooms, and the odd crack and fissure that allowed in the grey mist that had obviously settled over the forest as a result of the rain above.

Men waited over the chimneys and fissures here and there and called down encouragement.

The passage began to widen at last and Fergus said, "We're nearly there!"

Then he turned a corner and stopped, dumbfounded. Rock piled in front of him, tumbled from the ceiling and he could see the sky where the ground had opened into what had obviously started as a sink hole and had finally ended as a wall of rock that sealed the caves. But maybe the hole above was wide enough…

"Fergus?"

Handing her the torch he said, "There has been a cave in, but maybe we can climb up there." He pointed to the distant circle of grey light.

He climbed, his hands and feet protesting every inch, but he knew even before he reached the top that he'd not fit. Lucy might. He called out. "Hello!"

"My lord?" A voice answered almost right away. "There's been a cave in. We're going to dig you out, sit tight, please. We've sent to the castle for some food and blankets."

"Right," Fergus answered weakly. It would take them all night to dig them out, and perhaps a good part of the next day. But the thought of walking back to the other side of the hill, where they'd first fallen into the caves, exhausted him, left him feeling flatter than a rug.

Lucy seemed to share his dispirited mood and they sat side by side in the dim grey light after the torch finally guttered and burned out.

After a while, Fergus said, "Lucy… I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Fergus."

"We could have gone back the other way."

She didn't answer for a moment and then she shuffled across the floor a bit so that she sat right next to him. She felt warm and comfortable against his side and he could smell the woodsy scent of her hair. He looked over at her and she tentatively leaned her head against his shoulder. Quietly she said, "But we didn't and that's alright." Her lips quirked up in a small smile. "Who's to say there isn't a serpent at the bottom of that pool and that more of our splashing might have disturbed it enough to finally wake it? Might have swallowed us whole!"

"You… have quite the imagination…"

"What I'm trying to say…" she chuckled softly, "is that we made a choice. It was a bit more important than if I should wear the brown boots or the black boots, but ultimately, I was still going to walk in them, wasn't I? We're still here, Fergus. We're well, and healthy, and sick of mushrooms and your feet are a mess," she dug into her pack and pulled out more of the bitter root, "and I'm tired and dirty, and I can't seem to stop talking…"

Fergus leaned forward and then stopped, realising he'd been about to kiss her. Her words dropped away and they blinked at one another for a moment before Fergus lifted a finger to brush something from her cheek. Dropping his hand, he leaned away from her and pretended to study his hands.

Clearing his throat, he said quietly, "Lucy, I didn't mean to be so familiar."

She bit her lip, a mannerism he'd not seen her use before. Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she returned his gaze. Finally she said, "It's alright…" One side of her mouth crooked up in a half smile. "I am in the company of the gentlemanly Cousland, aren't I?" Her voice was soft, amused, but he detected something else, a tone he could not quite discern.

"That you are." He reached down and took her hand. Her fingers curled warmly about his.

She gazed over into the darkness for a while and when she looked back, it seemed a veil had slipped away her features. He saw another side of Lucy, not the confident and amiable woman he'd spent the last two days with, but a more vulnerable one. "It will be different when we return," she said softly. "It's like we've been in our own world here, with no one else to tell us who we are and where we stand. I nearly forgot you were the Teyrn." She paused. "What I'm trying to say is… I'm not sure if this," she looked down at their hands, "is such a good idea."

He supposed she was right; they didn't really know one another that well, circumstances had thrown them together. Or perhaps his nobility intimidated her, though it hadn't seemed to up until that point. But he was well aware of what village gossip would do to her reputation if…

"I understand." Unclasping her hand, he patted it softly and stood and moved back to the tumbled rock to await their supplies. He'd been caught up in the moment, he told himself. Once they made it out of the cave, things would return to normal. They would go their separate ways. She would return to the town and her son and he would go back to the castle by himself. He glanced over at her and saw she was looking at him. He smiled and she smiled back, a warm smile, a friendly smile. One he had become used to over the past two days.

"You will come to dinner, won't you?" he asked, wondering if she would hear the hope in his tone. "You can bring your son, or we could wait for Travers to return." A proper chaperone.

"I wouldn't miss it, Fergus."

And then she gave him a gift, a quick glimpse of an expression somewhat like his own, that same hopefulness. He wondered if he'd imagined it, the look had been so fleeting, but decided to believe he had not. Leliana would tell him he had not… His smile widened as he thought of his sister. The minstrel would love this story and she would encourage him to continue into the next chapter.


	12. Hobbies, Part One

_A/N: When this chapter exceeded 5,000 words I decided to split it in half. And then I decided the other half would be told by Aedan. His part of the chapter will be posted on Wednesday. :) I haven't forgotten that one of Alistair's previous chapters is missing a second half. Part two of A Suitable Replacement is still coming up!_

_When I first started thinking about this story, this chapter is one of the ones I had in my head and I've been writting and working on it for a while now. While it's entirely relevant to Aedan's current situation, it's also a chance for Alistair to explore his feelings on no longer being a Warden, something I've only touched on briefly in the past._

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Hobbies, Part One

Alistair looked at the man reclining on his couch. He looked so familiar yet not, with his long legs stuck straight out before him and his head resting against the back, hands folded loosely in his lap. Only Aedan sat like that on his couch, as if he slouched in his own house rather than the King's study. Instead of the usual easy smile, there was a tightness to his brother's face. He'd seen it before, of course. He'd seen all of Aedan's moods – had witnessed his joy, his tears, the way he gazed at his wife, his children, the way his looked at his men. He'd seen fear in those cool blue eyes, probably in reflection of his own. They'd both witnessed things no one should ever see. He'd seen the anger too, the barely repressed rage that had grown over the year they fought the Blight and had possessed him in the years since. And then there had been the nothingness, the blank look he carried back from Val Royeaux.

The look on his face now somewhat resembled that odd withdrawal, combined with something else. Something unfamiliar. He almost looked like someone else – and then it clicked. Aedan looked like he wasn't quite sure who he was. Alistair knew that feeling, intimately.

A silence had risen between them, a comfortable one. They often sat like this, both of them staring off into space and musing on their own. Brenna had discovered them sitting and staring once and had looked from one to the other, an amused expression on her face.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Blinking, Alistair replied. "No, nothing."

"Obviously. Shall I leave you two to your idleness, or can I give you something to do?"

The Queen had the pair of them rearrange the furniture in her sitting room. Alistair grumbled at one point about there being plenty of people in the palace that could move furniture for her and she replied that she had wanted his opinion on where it looked best, not that she actually heeded any of his advice. He thought the small writing desk looked fine at an angle.

"Makes the room look interesting," he offered.

"But it's right in the way of the door."

It was, a bit, but not so as you'd trip over it, he thought. Of course, Aedan then returned from the privy and promptly fallen over the chair. Alistair's explanation that Aedan was too tall and hadn't seen the chair did not seem to sway her and the desk had been moved.

Chuckling at the memory, Alistair glanced over at the man sprawled on his couch and asked, "What do you do for fun, Aedan?"

Aedan came back from wherever he was and answered, "Fun?" as if he'd never heard of the word.

"Fun, you know, activities that make you smile?"

The tightness eased from Aedan's face. "Why?" he asked curiously.

Alistair shrugged. "We've been talking about ghouls and bandits and maps and tunnels all morning." Rolf and Nate had given him a report of sorts, but he and Aedan had been musing over the connection between the bandits and the ghouls and had talked about the failed Joining. It had been at that point that Aedan seemed to have slumped into despondency. Alistair knew he probably thought of Luke and he wanted to cheer his friend. "Do you remember how we used to sneak out to taverns together? After the siege, when the city was still in a shambles and people barely recognised me?"

A smile stretched Aedan's mouth and he nodded. "I do. Are you suggesting we try again?"

"Why not? Everyone seems to think I need a hobby."

"Sneaking out to taverns is hardly a hobby, Alistair."

"We can discuss our hobbies while we are drinking, can't we?"

Laughing softly and looking sort like himself once more, Aedan answered. "That we can."

Their eyes met and Alistair arched a brow. "So, are we going to tell anyone where we are going?"

A spark seemed to catch in Aedan's blue eyes, something he'd not seen in a while. "It wouldn't be sneaking if we did that…"

"There will be stern words and harsh looks when we return…"

Aedan actually paused for a moment, a look of consternation crossing his features briefly, and Alistair wondered if it had to do with the hesitancy he'd observed between his friend and his wife. He'd chalked it up to their rough journey on the road, the pair had been all smiles at dinner last night, and he'd caught them giving each other that look, the one that excluded everyone else in the room. Something else they could discuss while drinking, perhaps. He certainly had questions about pregnant wives.

The frown eased and Aedan lifted his chin and grinned. "You are King and I am your Teyrn. If we want to go drink in a tavern," he glanced out the window, "in the middle of the afternoon, by ourselves, in disguise, that is what we'll do." His grin widened and a quiet chuckle escaped. "Besides, I can always tell Leli you made me do it."

Alistair laughed and Aedan joined in and as their mirth died away, Alistair wondered exactly what excuse he could give Brenna. Aedan made him do it? He heard her voice clearly in his mind: _You are King, Alistair._ He'd have to think of something else…

Slapping his legs and hauling himself off the couch, Aedan said, "Right, so we should get changed."

Leaving the palace undetected proved more difficult than either of them had anticipated. Security had been tightened considerably before his wedding and most recently as a result of the plague. After they'd discovered every exit had a guard, Aedan suggested, "What about a window?"

After contemplating the broken ankles they'd likely receive dropping from the third story when a guard spotted them hanging from the brickwork ledges, Alistair replied, "Why don't we try the kitchens."

Aedan nodded and they made their way to the kitchens. The head cook's eyes widened at their respective dress, recognizing her King, but somewhat perturbed to find him in heavy canvas pants, creased from being in a rumbled ball at the bottom of his wardrobe, an old shirt he usually wore under armour and a coat that he had hidden from Brenna when she threatened to throw it out. Aedan looked like… Aedan. He seemed to get away with looking casual. He'd merely exchanged his fussy shirt for one with holes in the cuffs, holes that currently had his thumbs poked through them, and the coat he always wore. It wasn't as old as Alistair's, but didn't look terribly new, either. And, like everything Aedan chose for himself, it was very, very plain.

"We were going to do some, ah, gardening." Alistair offered by way of explanation. "It's my new hobby. We're going to, um, move some roses about."

A single brow arched as the matronly woman looked at him, her lips pursed. She obviously knew as well as he did that if he moved roses about the head gardener would likely have an apoplectic fit.

"Or maybe we'll just tidy things up a bit."

"Right you are, your Majesty. Did you want some sandwiches or somewhat to take with you?" In other words: _Why are you in my kitchens?_

"Oh, yes, that's exactly what we wanted."

A bulging sack of cheese sandwiches clutched in his hand, Alistair excused himself from the kitchen via the back door. Aedan followed, curiously silent. A look at his friend confirmed his suspicions. Aedan's lips were clamped together over suppressed laughter. They both pulled hats from their pockets, jammed them down over their heads and slipped out the door to kitchen garden. The guards barely gave the two roughly dressed men a second look. They were leaving the palace, not trying to get in, and they had a sack of food. The king was known for his generosity – the two probably resembled stable boys or groundsmen heading off for the afternoon.

Taking advantage of their brief slip into anonymity, the pair made for the rear gate and were allowed to pass without so much as a second look.

As they rounded the corner of the wall and stepped across the street, Alistair turned to Aedan and said, "I could be carrying half the treasures of the palace out in this bag. They didn't even stop to ask what was in it."

"I think they know you'd never have made it through the kitchen alive, Alistair. You cook is a formidable woman and fiercely protective of her charges."

"Fair enough!" Alistair chuckled. "So where shall we go?"

"Dockside, I think. Pearl is just asking for trouble and we're both too well known at the Noble. We'll blend with the sailors and foreigners. Can you do an accent?"

"Not really, no."

"Neither can I. We'll have to be locals then."

Alistair inspected their outfits again. "I think that's believable."

Aedan hadn't stopped grinning and Alistair felt his own cheeks lift over another one. It was good to see his friend looking so relaxed and happy; it made him feel the same. They both needed this distraction, he decided.

The air had turned brisk with the onset of autumn and Alistair enjoyed the crisp tang of mulched leaves and woodsmoke. He didn't often venture towards the docks and as he caught the scent of salt, a surge of excitement caught him. Even if they were only going for a drink, he still felt swept along by the bustle and purpose of the busy seaport. They could step onto a ship and go to Antiva or the Free Marches or Orlais. They could be two men off in search of adventure, someone other than themselves for a while.

They wandered along the dock first, inspecting the ships and sails and passing comment on the various destinations. When they passed an Orlesian vessel, Alistair cast a curious gaze at his friend. Aedan had a calm look in his eyes as he watched the flag flutter against the deep azure sky and Alistair recalled the day Aedan had returned from Orlais. He'd known something awful had happened the moment he saw the Warden Commander disembark the Blazing Sun. Aedan had been so thin and pale, wasted, and his hug had been less than fierce and Alistair had felt a curious tremble in his limbs. And then he had had some sort of fit and collapsed, scaring everyone. Knowing the truth behind his state only made it worse. Fearing his friend might slip further into melancholy, Alistair tapped Aedan's elbow.

Aedan turned, saw him, and smiled. It was a real smile, warm, wide and reached his eyes. Alistair relaxed.

"How 'bout that drink?"

"Let's go."

Choosing one of the more reputable inns, they only wanted a few drinks, not a fight with drunken sailors, the two men took a table off to the side of the room, their position neither conspicuous nor suspicious. They started with ale.

"We don't want to get too messy…"

Over the first mug, Alistair asked, "So what are your hobbies, Aedan?" Hopefully they included more than staring blankly in to space.

Brows drawn together in thought, Aedan replied, "Well, I like to read."

"Oghren does not consider that a hobby, you know."

"We're indulging in Oghren's hobby right now."

Chuckling, Alistair took a long draught of his ale and prompted his friend for further activities. "What else?"

"Let's see… I fish, I practice my forms…"

"That's not really a hobby."

"Fishing?"

Alistair shook his head. "No, the training."

"Sure it is. I do it because I like it and it's relaxing."

"Hm. Alright, what else? Do you play an instrument?"

"Maker, no." Aedan held up his fingers and waggled them, then a very familiar expression slipped across his features. "I've been told my fingers are quite talented in other areas though." He winked.

Alistair laughed. By Leliana, no doubt. "Sex is not a hobby either."

"Zevran might disagree with that one…"

They both laughed this time and when Alistair looked down he noticed that they'd finished their first round of ale. "Like another?"

The conversation continued over the second round and Aedan made a very interesting admission.

"I like to write."

"Really? What do you write?"

"Well, I put together a collection of stories for Leli's birthday, in a book. About Highever." He looked faintly embarrassed and Alistair made and encouraging noise, urging him to continue. "Well, some of the stories were tales that I remembered and I wrote them out. Fergus helped, he sent some that he'd collected. And some were things I'd done, as a boy. Just a couple of really silly stories, but Leli really liked them."

Alistair smiled. "I'd like to read them, if I could."

Aedan looked at him quietly for a moment before shrugging and smiling in return. "Alright." He rubbed at the scar on his forehead in a familiar gesture as he gazed at his mug. Then he looked up once more. "I started keeping a journal, have you ever done that?"

"Don't you remember when Wynne found it and Zevran got his hands on it and decided to treat us all to a passage out loud over the campfire one night?" Aedan looked blank and Alistair remembered that the incident had occurred after Aedan had begun sharing Leliana's tent. He waved a hand through the air. "That first and last time I attempted to keep a diary."

"Well, this isn't like a diary, it's more… I thought it might help me sort my thoughts," Aedan replied pensively. He took a long swallow of his ale, draining half the mug, then settled back in his chair, no doubt stretching his legs out beneath the table. "This whole being a Warden but not thing, it's… hard."

Alistair nodded in commiseration. He remembered the look on Aedan's face earlier, the ambiguity. "It gets easier, particularly when you have a purpose." Alistair often went weeks without remembering he was a Warden. Then he'd sense the taint – Luke or one of the Wardens at the fort – and he'd experience an odd shift. "It's hard to believe anyone would actually miss fighting darkspawn."

Aedan gave him an odd look and Alistair reached for his drink and took a long and thoughtful sip.

"It's that and it's not?" Alistair continued. "There is the sense of doing something that's more important than," he struggled for eloquence, "simply living. It's about being a hero, but not. Maybe it's that by killing darkspawn we do something so tangible. Where as a king or," he gestured his quiet companion, "teryn, so much of what we do seems meaningless to our people. They don't really care if I decide to trade with Rivain. They might enjoy the addition of odd spices in the marketplace, the silks for their wives, but it's not the same as being able to tell them that they are safe, that the archdemon is dead and the horde has been driven so far underground they'll return to legend."

For a moment Aedan looked naked, exposed. The sheer plainness of it in his expression almost frightened Alistair and the two men looked at one another oddly, then differently. He saw the sadness then, the deep well of it, and though it disappeared when Aedan blinked, Alistair recognised it. He had felt it, several times. When Duncan had died he'd felt an incredible sense of loss, one he thought he might not recover from. Someone had finally believed in him, accepted him, and supported him despite his heritage. Duncan had given him a purpose beyond the birthright he'd been told to ignore. And then he had died, leaving him an impossible task, one he'd recognised long before he'd admitted it to Aedan.

Then, when they'd finally defeated the archdemon, he'd nearly lost Aedan. It had been so tempting to join Leliana in the depths of despair, even though both Wynne and Taren had assured them that Aedan would return to Thedas when his body had finished healing. He'd felt that without his brother by his side he'd not be able to undertake the monumental task of ruling Ferelden. It had been so hard to adjust, to do that not so tangible thing he had just described. He'd felt useless for a long, long time.

Defeating the Mage had given him an insight into Aedan's world, one he had not relished at the time. But it had also served to consolidate his position. He could be a King and a Warden and his people accepted him as both, which allowed him to finally accept the duality for himself.

Still, there were aspects he would always miss. Quietly, he continued, not sure if he should, but almost needing to, because finally he'd found someone else that understood. "It's the brotherhood too, the camaraderie. That feeling that someone is beside you, behind you. You are not alone." There was nothing quite like the company of men and women all dedicated to a single cause. If anything, Alistair would have to say that was what he missed the most.

"Being part of the Order," Aedan said quietly and Alistair looked up from his study of the tabletop. "Knowing they are there because you can feel them through the taint. It's," he hesitated and Alistair knew what he was going to say before he said it, "lonely without them." An uncharacteristic flush coloured the tall warrior's cheeks, one that could not be attributed to two ales.

"It is," Alistair readily agreed, partly to commiserate, to put Aedan at ease, but also because it was true. It was odd that the very thing that would kill them bound them together, the taint. Once you were used to feeling Wardens about you, a vacuum existed in their absence, as if everyone in the room had stopped talking at once.

Aedan continued softly, "I didn't want to be a Warden, Alistair. I hated it."

"I know." Alistair had wanted to be a Warden. It had been his escape from the chantry. He had not wanted to be a templar. If he thought about it, he supposed he might have made a fair templar and settled into another sort of brotherhood. He might have been content.

He hadn't really wanted to be king either. But much as he supposed Aedan had grudgingly accepted the mantle of Warden Commander, and every other title he'd thrust upon his friend, Alistair had accepted the role of King. There were days when he still looked about in awe, wondering how a boy who'd slept in the stables had ended up ruling Ferelden. Apparently that particular look endeared him to Brenna. She said it made him a humble king, a better ruler. Alistair wasn't quite so sure. He often looked at men like Aedan with envy.

Aedan had the easy confidence of a noble birth and upbringing. He didn't speak down to other men or treat commoners with less deference than nobles, but he had the bearing of a man who knew his birthright and accepted it. He'd never been told to accept less, only to strive for more. Alistair had spent most of his life being told exactly the opposite.

Glancing over at his friend, he wondered again why he was king and Aedan not. Had history played out differently, or even the end of the Blight, a Cousland could easily have sat on the throne. He looked over at the man he considered his brother. Aedan had never been content as a Warden. Driven, possessed, yes.

He was content as king though, he had to admit. He'd grown into the role and as time passed, recognised that he was good at it. And Alistair was content to be remembered as a good king. Not everyone had to be great. Good would not have been good enough for Aedan. Aedan would have to be a great king; he did not know how to be less. For once, Alistair did not envy his friend this trait; he'd seen what it had done to the man and his family. Sometimes good enough was simply that, good enough. A curious relaxed feeling spread across Alistair's shoulders as he mentally affirmed his choices once more and accepted himself.

Smiling and draining his ale, Alistair beckoned a passing server and asked for two whiskeys.

"We planning on getting messy after all?" Aedan asked softly with a half smile.

"Well we were both starting to sound pretty morbid, I thought whiskey would either cheer us up or compound our troubles and then maybe we can finish the evening out with a good cry or a rousing bar fight."

Aedan chuckled. "We could do both! You remember that tavern in Orzammar, when I fell into that lady's lap? Given the nature of the dwarves, I'm surprised we got out of there unscathed."

Grinning, Alistair said, "Barely. I seemed to remember a close up view of the gutter outside. Didn't we wake up at Oghren's place? And you'd used all the water." He scowled at his friend and then arched his brows and grinned again as their whiskey arrived. Raising his glass to Aedan's he said, "To…" he couldn't think of anything that didn't sound completely trite.

"Being messy?"

"To being messy." He'd drink to that. Life _was_ messy!

Putting his glass down again, he looked over at Aedan and said, "So what _did_ you want to be?"

Aedan regarded him quizzically for a few moments then said, "I have no idea. I didn't have a plan. I always supposed I'd remain at Highever and..." he contemplated his whiskey and took a long swallow. "I never wanted to be anyone special, Alistair. I just wanted to be a good man."

He hadn't said 'great'. Alistair looked at Aedan anew and realised that perhaps his friend had, after all, come to the same realization. Maybe he also thought 'good enough' was just that.

"What did you want to be?" Aedan asked.

Arching a brow, Alistair thought for a single beat before answering, "Not a templar."


	13. Hobbies, Part Two

_A/N: It's a day late, but hopefully not a dollar short. ;) Sorry for the delay, I ripped out the middle and rewrote it at the last minute. Leliana and Brenna's reactions on Monday. :) Then we'll move the story forward a bit. I've not killed anyone for a while, have I?_

_I'm about halfway done with Interludes. It's as different as I thought it might be. I'm enjoying writing it. It's like a series of one-shots. Thanks to everyone who is reading, I hope you're enjoying it too._

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Hobbies, Part Two

Whiskey was one of those drinks that felt different with every sip. The first burned the back of the throat down to the middle of the chest and into the stomach. The second sip caught the tongue and lingered and, depending on the quality of the whiskey, the third might taste or not.

Aedan did not drink a lot as a rule, and rarely drank spirits. Fergus had a taste for brandy and whiskey and he often indulged with his brother, out of habit. He'd always wanted to do what Fergus did, whether he enjoyed it or not. Right now, however, he doubted the best whiskey in Thedas would tickle his palate. He could feel the burn, but did not know if the bitterness that lingered on his tongue had been left by the whiskey or if the alcohol refused to wash it away. He welcomed the spread of warmth through his shoulders and limbs, the loosening of tension – something the ale had barely touched.

Looking over at Alistair, Aedan considered his closest friend in a new light. Alistair knew what he was going through. How had he forgotten that the King was also a Warden, but not? Had he really been that selfish? The thought made Aedan wince slightly, an expression he covered with a lift of his glass. He had done a lot of thinking on the road to Denerim, in between the silences between himself and Leliana, and that same question had crept into his thoughts over and again. Was he too selfish or self absorbed? Were they the same thing? Is that what drove him, really, instead of the desire to protect Ferelden from the darkspawn? Did he seek to prove something to himself? It was part of his struggle for identity, he realised. Something else Alistair would be intimately familiar with. Something Aedan was tired of dealing with. He liked to think, he'd always been the thoughtful sort, but this much thinking made his head ache and then the nothingness would beckon.

Clearing his throat softly, he glanced upwards again and asked, "Why do we do it, Alistair? Is it just because we have to, or feel we don't have a choice? Or is something else driving us?"

Alistair did not ask him to clarify the what, he seemed to understand the question and his mobile brows moved together in thought. He gave a half shrug before saying, "I used to think it was because we had to. If we didn't do it, no one else would. But now I think it's because we think we can do it better."

"Are we selfish?"

"No, we're proud." Alistair licked his lips, then pressed them together for a moment, his gaze resting somewhere between his glass and the table. When he looked up, he seemed to have discovered something; his hazel eyes had a brighter cast to them. "Maybe good enough isn't good enough, after all."

Then he laughed. Aedan had no idea what had amused the king, but he chuckled along with him, happy for the break in tension.

"So," Alistair said. "We're supposed to be talking about our hobbies and not getting maudlin."

"Right. What do you do for fun then, Alistair?"

"Um, well…" Alistair looked thoughtful for a moment and Aedan frowned at his friend. Surely he had some sort of hobby? Scratching his head, Alistair finally said, "I pretend I'm not King?"

"Do you really dislike it that much?" Sorrow rose within Aedan at his friend's plight. He knew what it was to do something he despised. Alistair could hardly retire from ruling Ferelden, however. It would spark another civil war.

"No, I don't dislike it. I actually enjoy it far more than I thought I would. And it's not just the food," Alistair grinned, "or the fancy bed. It's the satisfaction of doing something well and knowing that I'm doing it well."

A broad grin broke across Aedan's face and he reached over to grip Alistair's arm. "I'm glad you feel that way. You are a great king, Alistair, just as I knew you would be." Alistair looked absurdly pleased at the compliment and Aedan grinned happily at his friend. "And now you have a baby on the way. Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?"

"Anything that resembles me would do." The King studied his drink, then raised it to his lips and drained it. "After all this time, there will certainly be rumours and it's not as if I can produce an empty bottle and say, 'here, I had help'."

"An empty bottle?" Had Alistair discovered something that had helped him overcome the taint and conceive? Hope flared briefly in Aedan's chest. Could he and Leliana have another child of their own? The hope died as quickly as it had risen, however. Alistair looked… shifty? Had he used some sort of magic? No, he found that hard to believe. While Alistair held a fascination for the arcane, Aedan doubted he'd use it to further his own ambitions. But the discovery of something that could help Wardens have children, despite the taint, would change what it meant to be a Warden, significantly. Aedan didn't know if the change would be for the better, however. Wardens were not supposed to be family men, which had always been his problem, what had stopped him from…

Nausea rose in his gut again and Aedan closed his eyes. Thedas spun away from him and he gripped the table and opened his eyes.

"Aedan?"

"Alistair, I," have been so selfish. "I… what bottle?" If it was real, this bottle, he could start again, dedicate himself to what he really wanted to be: a husband, a father.

"I simply used a metaphor, it's not as if there is any magic potion that allows Wardens to have children, is there?"

Aedan resisted the urge to gape at his friend, his brother. Alistair had just lied to him, he felt sure of it, though he could not guess why.

"Or a magic potion that allows us to live longer than thirty years," he prompted.

Alistair shook his head sadly. "No."

"We are the only two Wardens I know of that will have children of our own. That seems odd, doesn't it?" Aedan pressed, unable to help himself.

Alistair drained his whiskey and signaled for another and Aedan sensed his friend using the time to organize his response. What was the King hiding from him?

"We do things differently in Ferelden?" Alistair quipped and Aedan couldn't help the small smile that crept across his mouth.

"That we do. Say, did you ever hear back from Weisshaupt? After your response to their inquiries?" It had taken the Wardens of the Anderfels two years to send their questions and it had taken them six months to respond. After all that time, their official stance on why Aedan had survived the archdemon had been once again, a simple, 'We don't know'. Philippe had helped them to phrase their response a little more eloquently, citing that two Wardens had made it to the rooftop and encouraging them to say they had both been present at the time of the killing blow. "If we all start having children do you think they will come down here and to take a closer look?"

Alistair looked concerned for a few seconds and then he answered, "We're the only two. And we were on top of the Fort." He shrugged and spread his hands. "Maybe there's an upside to surviving an archdemon."

Instinctively, Aedan reached out, feeling for the taint, wondering if for a brief minute if it might not be there. It was. He always felt the taint when Alistair was close, often wondered if the taint within his brother had felt more distinct than the other Wardens. He always seemed more aware of Alistair.

Thinking back he realised that it might be because Alistair had been a Warden for longer than he had. He remembered the feel of Duncan – briefly after the Joining – and the whisper that had been Alistair. He remembered Riordan. Like Duncan, the older Warden had caused his stomach to roil and almost rebel. The thought of this son's namesake had him closing his eyes briefly and he recalled that night, the siege and watching Riordan fall from the back of the great dragon. Dizziness tugged at him, he'd already had too much to drink, but he sipped more whiskey anyway, the taste bitter now, slipping along the edges of his tongue.

A hand on his arm brought him back to the present and Aedan blinked about the noisy tavern, surprised to find himself there instead of on top of Fort Drakon.

"Where were you?" Alistair asked.

"On top of Fort Drakon," Aedan whispered.

Alistair seemed to stare at him blankly for a moment and then he said, "I was there, just a few moments ago. We are getting morbid, aren't we?"

"Hey, you look familiar, you're… hm, I dunno who you are, but I've seen you 'round, right?"

A man stood next to Alistair, a labourer or dock worker by the looks of his clothing and rough hands. Aedan instinctively leaned forward, prepared to protect his brother and his King. Alistair looked up at the man standing at their table. "Ah…"

"Here, lend me some coin, will you? I forgot me purse and have a thirst," the man nodded in that way men nod between friends. He held out his hand.

Fumbling at his belt, Alistair pulled out a few silver coins and dropped them into the man's hand. Aedan understood the gesture; it would be easier to 'lend' him the money than to explain they did not know one another. Not personally, anyway.

"Thanks, mate. I'll tell Kristy I saw you."

Kristy? Who was Kristy? Alistair's said, "You do that."

The man ambled off and seemed to meet another 'friend' by the bar. They ordered ale and raised their glasses in salute. Aedan and Alistair echoed the gesture.

Setting down his glass, Aedan turned to his friend and asked, "Who is Kristy?"

"No idea. Nice name for a girl though…"

Aedan grinned, the tension he'd felt earlier dissipating somewhat as he thought about Alistair and Brenna's child. Alistair looked so happy, so settled. Did he care how it had come about? Not really, he decided. He was happy for his brother, overjoyed that the King would at last have a child of his own. "Are you talking of names already?"

Alistair pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and with a bashful grin, pushed it across the table. On it was scrawled a list of names, maybe twenty of them. Aedan read a few aloud, "Duncan," that one made sense, "Gallagher," after Brenna's father, "Peter, Benjamin, Eamon," Aedan's eyes flicked upwards, "You wouldn't…"

The King tried to look offended but didn't quite succeed. "No, but putting the name on the list seemed a tribute of sorts? I don't really want to use Gallagher either. Can you imagine calling a child Gallagher? How do you shorten that? Gal? Gallag? Gher?" Aedan laughed and Alistair continued, "What were you called as a child?"

"Aedan."

"No charming nicknames or diminutives?"

Aedan felt the corners of his lips pull down as he remembered what his father had called him. "Pup," he murmured quietly. "My father called me Pup." Smiling again, he returned the question. "What about you?"

Alistair shrugged, "The Bastard?" He smiled though, and drained his whiskey.

Sensing another downward plunge of both their moods, Aedan signaled for more whiskey, noted Alistair's arched brow and then attempted to move the conversation forward. "So, I don't see any girl's names on this list."

Alistair reached for it and, taking out a pencil, scrawled 'Kristy' at the end. He looked up. "How did you choose the name for Grace, or Riordan?"

Aedan thought back to when he had named the infant girl he'd found in a tainted village. Leliana had once asked him why he'd chosen the name Grace. To Alistair, he gave the same answer, "I named her for Leli." He felt his cheeks grow warm and decided to blame the whiskey rather than his own sentiment. "For her favourite flower, Andraste's Grace. In the middle of all that horror, Grace was like… a flower? Something sweet and untouched. She was the only thing that did not reek of the taint."

Their whiskey arrived and Aedan took a long sip of his, hoping to hide the emotion he felt as he spoke of his children. Alistair remained quiet and thoughtful, sipping at his own whiskey.

"I let Leli name Riordan. It means 'poet', did you know that? I think she named him well…" his voice trailed off and Aedan let his gaze fall to the scarred tabletop for a moment. A thought had occurred and it wasn't a new one. He voiced it quietly to his friend. "Alistair, do you think…" hesitation caught him and he glanced upwards to meet his brother's calm gaze, "…do you think if Leliana had not been pregnant, with Riordan, that she…" he couldn't finish.

Alistair prompted him, his eyes full of concern. "That she what?"

"I sometimes wonder if she only married me because of… that. Maybe she might have been happier had I let her go?" He felt his gut wrench as if the words pulled something free and it hurt. His eyes drifted closed and he swallowed over the bitter taste in the back of his throat.

"Let her go where, Aedan? You're not making sense."

He knew he should change the subject, that he was going to drag the pair of them down, but now that he'd started, he couldn't stop. This was what he wanted to talk to his closest friend about, what he could say to no one else. "I think I'm losing her, Alistair."

"What?" Alistair looked shocked. "You're must be mistaken, Aedan. You, she… she wants to be in Gwaren with you."

"I think she regrets it." The lump in his throat had become almost impossibly large and Aedan felt the burn behind his eyes. Not now! The unpredictability of his emotions seemed heightened by the alcohol. Instead of pushing aside his glass, however, Aedan picked it up and drained it, earning a familiar look from Alistair as one of those mobile brows quirked upwards. It was nearly enough to make him smile, but his mouth felt weird, numb. Folding his arms across the table, he dropped his head into their nest and hid his face for a while, taking shallow breaths. Just as he had decided that the tremor had disappeared from his throat, the tickled at the back of his nose, the press of tears, a hand fell upon his shoulder.

"Aedan?"

He looked up to meet Alistair's warm, familiar gaze and saw the concern and care in the hazel eyes. Clearing his throat, he answered, "I'm trying to avoid the crying portion of the evening," and offered a half smile.

Alistair smiled tentatively in return and Aedan sat up. "For what it's worth, I think you are wrong," the King said quietly. "I have never seen two people more in love."

Shaking his head, Aedan shrugged. He was still in love, wasn't he? His ability to think clearly on the subject seemed impaired, sorrow being the strongest emotion he could feel. And remorse, for all he had let her endure over the years. He'd been a terrible husband, not even a husband. "I've been so selfish…" he whispered.

"Love is supposed to be selfish, isn't it? I'm sure I've read that somewhere." Alistair breathed out a short sigh, his brows drawing together. "It can't always be equal, but she stood by you, Aedan."

"I can feel her withdrawing. And I don't know how to hold on to her. I've given her promises, but I can see she doesn't believe me." The long silences between them felt so empty. He knew she was thinking, but he didn't dare ask what about. He'd never been frightened of what Leliana might say before, not truly. "If I lose her, Alistair, it will all have been for nothing."

Alistair sipped at his whiskey and winced either at the burn of it or his words. Then he said, "Do you remember Orzammar, when you thought you might lose her?"

Aedan nodded dolefully.

"What did you do?"

"I held her tighter, I told her…" he stopped, thinking back to the words he'd said and he remembered the look on her face, the relief he'd seen in her eyes. She'd thought herself a distraction, but he'd assured her otherwise. _My heart is yours 'til death parts us,_ he'd said. _I cannot, I will not, take it back. My love for you will be my strength, not my weakness._ He believed that still, and those words had sustained him through many hardships. "I held her tighter," he repeated, looking at Alistair.

A feeling of resolve swept through him, as if, maybe, all was not lost. Maybe he could still hold on to her. Aedan swallowed over the lump, feeling it ease somewhat, and drained his whiskey glass.

"I thought I might lose Brenna, you know." Alistair started quietly. "I was so frustrating not being able to…" he paused and sympathy for his plight welled within Aedan. "She wanted a child so badly, I felt like an utter failure. We both knew the odds, of course," Aedan knew that he'd told Brenna everything. Neither of them had been able to keep their Grey Warden secrets from those closest to them, "she wanted to adopt a boy from the orphanage. She seemed so focused on that, it left me feeling…" he waved his hand out in a useless gesture. "I'm starting to not make sense…"

Aedan gripped his brother's hand briefly. "You make perfect sense. I am happy for you, Alistair, truly happy. A child is…" he shook his head and felt his mouth finally curve into a proper smile. "Children are worth everything. To see yourself like that, it quite takes the breath away."

"Thank you, Aedan."

They smiled at one another for a moment, both of them probably looking just about as Aedan felt, somewhat drunk and slightly lost. They had both finished their whiskey and Aedan blinked at the empty glass. "Do you have any idea how many of these we've had?"

Alistair frowned briefly at the glass as if waiting for it to offer up a clue. "No," he finally admitted. "Which probably means we've had enough?"

"Are we having fun?"

"We were until we started talking about darkspawn and the like. We were supposed to be talking about hobbies."

"Bloody darkspawn. Ruining everything." Aedan waved at the server. "Let's have a cleansing ale for the road."

"A cleansing ale? What in Thedas…?"

"It's one of Fergus's tricks. I have no idea if it works, but it sounds good don't you think?"

The ale was cool and crisper than the whiskey. It slid down his throat in an agreeable fashion and Aedan savoured the bland taste of it. They made a visit to the conveniences and both had to squelch chuckles as their shoulders rebounded from walls in the narrow hallway.

"It's a good thing it's a long walk back to palace," Alistair commented and Aedan could only nod in agreement.

He felt good though, relaxed, and as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest. He felt… normal. Completely and utterly himself. Drunk, yes, but more like Aedan than he'd felt in a long time. He recalled the nights he and Alistair had sat at a campfire and talked in just this fashion and he smiled. It had been a long time since he'd felt properly connected to the man he considered his best friend and as they headed towards the front door of the tavern he slung his arm about the King's shoulder in a companionable fashion. Alistair hiccupped. It had sounded mysteriously like a giggle.

When they reemerged onto the docks, Alistair blinked into the darkness. "It's nighttime," he said.

"So it is."

"I hope I can remember where the palace is."

A soft chuckle sounded escaped his lips and Aedan turned to regard the sprawl of rooftops. Raising his arm, he gestured the tower of Fort Drakon, only just visible in the distance, a greyer sort of beacon in the night sky as stars and lantern light caught the smooth granite walls. "S'over there somewhere," he said.

They got caught in an alleyway. Shadows seemed to peel off the wall and rough hands grasped him from behind. He heard a familiar voice.

"You got a lot of coin in that purse there, friend," the man from the tavern said to Alistair. "Hand it over quietly and no one gets hurt."

"What would Kristy say?" Alistair asked and Aedan resisted the urge to chuckle.

The whiskey made him feel somewhat disconnected, such that he had no idea how many assailants stood in the alleyway with them. All he could tell for sure was that one man held him while the other talked to Alistair. Almost without thought, Aedan thrust his boot backwards, catching the calf of the man holding him. Then he attempted to twist out of the grip. The man behind him hissed and held him tighter, wrenching his arms backwards and Aedan felt the tickle of rage within. He was trapped, his arms useless, and he couldn't help but be transported back to the dark dungeon beneath Val Royeaux. Rational thought ceased and with a howl he twisted again, violently, managing to move the bulk behind him enough that he could turn slightly. His aggressor towered over him by at least four inches and his face had a brutish cast to it in the dim shadows of the alleyway.

He heard a scuffle to his side and heard Alistair say, "Here, no one needs to get hurt…"

"What about you, Sunshine?" whispered a voice. Aedan vaguely heard the man behind him enquire about his own belt pouch, but he couldn't focus. All he could hear was one word echoing over and over in his head. Sunshine, sunshine…

The knot of rage in his gut loosened and enveloped him. With a snarl, Aedan jerked violently about, his elbow catching the man behind him in the ribs. He kicked and clawed and as soon as he had an arm free, he threw a punch. The man behind him reacted appropriately, his fist returning the insult, catching Aedan across the cheek, a quick flare of pain that only sent him further towards the edge. He could feel it, the urge to let go completely, to give into the fury and it frightened him enough that he paused for breath, trying to pull back. He worked to keep his movements more coordinated, an elbow across the jaw, an arm up to block another punch and finally, a knee to the groin and an elbow between the shoulder blades. The man dropped away only to be replaced by another, the friend from the bar.

Aedan quickly turned his head to check on Alistair. The King was trading blows with a fourth man, one he did not recognise and Aedan looked behind them to see the original assailant turning on his heel as if to throw himself back into the fight. A blow to the gut brought his attention back to his own opponent and he raised his fists again, swung, missed, dodged and then caught the man across the jaw. He stepped back too far and a boot shot out, catching him squarely between the legs and Aedan blinked back tears, but remained on his feet, hissing between clenched teeth. He grabbed at the man and they grappled briefly, both of them trying to throw the other down. As they turned, he caught sight of Alistair beset by both men now, and then he caught a flash of steel.

"No!" he yelled and heaved himself bodily at the man before him. A thunderclap sounded and the world flew away from him as his feet left the ground and his head connected with the brick behind him. As he slid down the wall, blackness edging in on his vision, obscuring all activity in the alleyway, he reached out a hand, "Don't hurt him," he tried to say, but his tongue felt thick and his mouth refused to work properly. His thoughts swirled. "He's my brother," he whispered. He'd meant to say, 'The King'. The nothingness beckoned and he couldn't fight it.

"Aedan?" Someone shook his shoulder. "Aedan?"

Aedan opened his eyes with a start and blinked up at Alistair. He scrambled away from the wall and Alistair helped him to his feet. Around them lay four bodies, two of them moaning, one trembling, the other still. "What…?" He glanced at Alistair and gripped his shoulders. "Are you…?"

"I'm fine, but we need to get out of here."

"What…?" Aedan asked again, shaking his head as if by doing so he could make sense of everything.

"Aedan, can you walk?"

Then he realised what had happened. Alistair had released a smite. "Maker's breath," he whispered. He'd not felt that wave of power since the Blight, when he'd actively trained to withstand it. "Right, we need to go…" Common folk did not know how to smite, only templars and… the King of Ferelden.

"Exactly. I think our cover might be…"

They ran, both of them limping and wincing as the uneven cobbles jogged sore ribs and bruised faces and fists. After rounding two corners, they hit a wall of metal.

"Halt!"

The city guard. Aedan groaned, his first instinct being to either run or fight again. After taking in the arms and armour of the four men surrounding them, running seemed the more attractive option. Then he remembered who he was, who Alistair was. "Alistair," he said.

Alistair blinked at him and then looked at the guard carefully and finally picked out the man on the end. "Carl?"

Carl blinked and then his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. He immediately stepped back and crossed his arms in salute. "Your Majesty!"

The rest of the guard followed suit, bowing at the waist, and then the questions began. "Are you alright? Were you taken against your will? Where have you been? The palace is in an uproar. Where are you clothes?"

Aedan's head began to pound.

They made it back to the palace without further incident, gathering further guards along the way as word spread that the King had been found. As they passed through the gates, Aedan looked up at the steps leading to the Landsmeet Chamber and winced. He could discern three figures: Leliana, Brenna and Nicholas. He wasn't sure if the groan he heard came from his throat or Alistair's. Probably both.

Brenna looked beside herself with worry and Alistair nearly threw himself at the Queen's feet. Aedan turned to look at Leliana and found her expression completely unreadable. Then she reached out to touch his sore cheek and her mask fell away and her eyes blinked and he saw her truly, the fright, the worry, a spark of anger and the love.

Sweeping his arms around her, he pulled her close, held her tightly. "Leli," he whispered to her hair. He could feel her trembling against him. "Leli, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

He wanted to tell her he was sorry for everything, all of it, but he couldn't articulate his thoughts, he could only repeat the same words over and over as he held her, tightly, telling himself he'd never let go.


	14. Secrets

_A/N: The 'poem' Leliana and Brenna refer to is actually a quote from George Eliot. Not all poetry has to rhyme, hm? The second poem is a verse from _No More a Roving_ by Lord Byron. I've taken it out of context, but I like to think poetry is open to interpretation. _

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* * *

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Secrets

Leliana considered her reflection in the mirror. She saw a woman where for so long she'd seen a girl or a young woman. But at thirty four years of age her features seemed softer somehow, despite the edginess she currently felt. Her red hair shone as brightly as ever and she reached a hand up to tuck it behind her ear, wondering if she might tie it back, away from her face. The soft ends brushed her shoulders now and she couldn't remember the last time her hair had been so long. Her eyes looked a little dark and she decided to forgo the kohl pencil she favoured. Over the past two months she had left her face clean of make up more often than not. She didn't know why, but after adding a little colour to her lips, decided she was satisfied with herself.

Aedan appeared behind her, his face a contrite mask, and his cool blue eyes a held a combination of weariness and wariness. Slipping his arms about her waist, he leaned forward and kissed her hair, closing his eyes as he did so.

"You smell differently," he said.

Aedan had always kept her supplied with perfume and soaps carrying the delicate scent of Andraste's Grace, her favourite flower. He had offered her the simple white flower as a gift, before they were lovers, and she had recognised it as the one her mother favoured and adopted the scent as her own afterwards. But now, the delicate flower carried another memory, the night she had tried to kill Paul Le Trene. As she stood on the balcony of their room in Val Royeaux, the scent of Andraste's Grace had wafted from their room, tickling her nose, and had become combined with her recall of that terrible night: the creak of sinew at her ear, the pulse of adrenaline through her veins, the heavy weight of her thoughts as she made the decision to kill a man and let loose an arrow aimed at his heart.

Since their return from Orlais she had been trying to find a new scent, one that pleased her. Today she wore something she'd found in the marketplace of Highever and had worn before, a light distillation of juniper berry. She liked it; the scent seemed to hold promise over an earthy depth.

"Do you like it?" she asked, interested in his interpretation of the perfume.

"I miss how you used to smell." He sounded wistful and it occurred to her that she had never actually told him why she no longer wore the perfume he gave her. She had thought him too preoccupied to notice.

"I wanted to try something new."

A careful look entered his eyes and Leliana felt her breath catch. They were so tentative with one another and she found herself at a loss at how to change it. He looked like he might ask something, then deferred, nodding instead and moving hand to her shoulder, caressing her neck softly before tangling his fingers in her long hair. She watched him in the mirror, wondering at the pensive look on his face.

He'd not said much the night before, besides his apology. As Nicholas tended his wounds, closing the cut across his cheek, taking the bruises from his eye and his knuckles, the lump from the back of his head and knitting yet another fractured rib, he had offered a brief recap of his afternoon. He and Alistair had gone drinking, as they had after the Blight, and were caught by cutpurses on their return to the palace. He'd fallen asleep then, before the mage finished his healing. Thinking back to his apology however, as he clung to her on the steps of the palace, she felt he'd been saying sorry for than sneaking off to drink in the middle of the afternoon. For more than putting himself at risk or endangering the life of his King, his brother. For more than worrying his wife and the Queen. Aedan's eyes always held all of his thoughts and all of his feelings and as he had whispered the words over and over, it had felt like he said sorry for everything, even for things she might never understand or know. It had made her sad, unaccountably so, that he felt he had so much to apologise for.

"You are so beautiful, Leli," he murmured softly now. "I like your hair this long." He held her again, tightly, as if she might disappear if he let go.

Luke called for him then and he left quietly, eyes clouded with unspoken words.

She looked at herself in the mirror again, ready to tie her hair back, away from her shoulders, and then left it loose, remembering the feel of his fingers, his lips and soft whispers.

Somewhat later, sitting in the garden set in the middle of the palace, Leliana lifted her gaze from Rory and Grace and let her thoughts drift. The early afternoon sun flooded the garden, lighting the sandstone walls a brilliant yellow. The colour contrasted brightly with the expanse of green lawn and the heavy red of the bobbing heads of late summer roses, still stubbornly clinging into fall. The flowers reminded her of Aedan in their tenacity, their refusal to given in to the season, and she wondered if perhaps he'd like the scent of them, if a perfume of roses would please him, somehow wipe the wistful look from his gaze and magically return them to what they had been only two short weeks ago. A breeze stirred the air, carrying the light fragrance of the roses and the grass, the mulching leaves, and Leliana breathed deeply of it, closing her eyes now and letting her shoulders relax.

"Where is Aedan today?"

Leliana glanced to the side, feeling an uncharacteristic flush take her cheeks. Though she enjoyed quiet moments and they often marked her friendship with Brenna, the comfortable silences that arose as they both let their minds drift, she'd not meant to get quite so lost in her thoughts at that moment.

"With Luke. They were going shopping and then to the Fort."

"Shopping?"

"Apparently to buy Alistair a fishing pole. Something about him needing a hobby?"

Brenna giggled and Leliana let the sound wash over her, feeling it lighten her mood. Brenna had a truly musical laugh. The diminutive woman embodied joy, she sometimes thought. Her eyes nearly always sparkled with it and her face often seemed lit with her lust for life.

"How was his head this morning?" Brenna asked.

Leliana's smile dissolved into a proper chuckle. "Probably better than it should have been. What about Alistair?"

"Cheerful as ever, as if he'd not put himself or Aedan in danger, or worried half of Denerim or his pregnant and delicate wife." Brenna winked and Leliana grinned at the mischief in those green eyes.

Truthfully they'd not even noticed the men were missing until about two hours before they'd returned. Everyone had thought they were just elsewhere. It wasn't until a meal had been missed – Wardens, former or otherwise, rarely missed meals – that they had realised that both Alistair and Aedan were not in the palace or the fort. Two hours had been enough for her and Brenna to wring their hands until their fingers ached, however. They had paced the Landsmeet Chamber first, both trying to comfort the other, both sure that the men were simply somewhere obscure, lost in some arcane text or collection of old arms. When it became clear they were not hidden in either the palace or the fort, they had had a brief window of true fear until a runner approached the palace, breathlessly informing them that the King and the Commander had been found, in the back alleys of the city. They were bleeding, bruised, drunk, but alive.

Leliana had known then, exactly what had occurred and as she exchanged a glance with Brenna, she saw that the queen knew also. Still, lips were pressed into firm lines and worry plucked at their chests until the men had staggered into view, looking like recalcitrant chantry boys, their postures stooped with remorse. Until Aedan had ascended the steps and flung himself at her, Leliana had been prepared to either scold or somewhat absurdly, laugh, but then she had seen his face and she had just been so relieved to find him alive and returned to her.

"What got into them I wonder?" Brenna mused and Leliana returned to the garden once more and glanced over at her friend.

"I do not know," she answered. But she did, or she thought she did. It had been a long time since Alistair and Aedan had spent time like that together, being just men instead of the King and the Warden Commander. Maybe they'd both wanted to forget who they were for a while. Or maybe Aedan had simply sought to escape himself for a while, or his choices, or his current life, or… her. The thought that he needed distance from her hurt and she couldn't help the crease between her brows and the small intake of breath.

A hand reached for hers and Brenna said, "Will you tell me what is on your mind, Leliana? I don't mean to pry, but…"

"…but it is obvious I am distracted today."

"And melancholy, you have been since you returned from Highever." Brenna possessed a sharp mind and observant eye. "Is it what happened in Val Royeaux?"

Leliana frowned and looked closely at Brenna. In contrast to her dark hair, the queen had remarkably pale skin, though a flush of health and vitality often coloured her cheeks. A deeper flush coloured them now, one that rose from her neck, and the queen dropped her gaze a moment and licked her lips.

"Alistair told me… what happened," she whispered, then gripped Leliana's hand more tightly. "Leliana, I… I don't know what to say, except that I'm sorry and that my heart is with you both."

Nodding quietly, not trusting herself to speak right away, Leliana squeezed the queen's hand in return, then turned her gaze to her children, playing so quietly, seemingly oblivious to the sudden change of atmosphere. Then Grace looked up and caught her eye. The young face lit up at her mother's attention, the soft grey eyes brightening above a wide smile. A tremble shook her shoulders and Brenna made a sound of concern. Leliana reached for a mask, for a straighter spine, for the resolve that helped guide her through everything, and to her horror, none of it was there. Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked at them, feeling ridiculous.

"Leliana?"

The tone of Brenna's voice plucked at the last of her resolve and the tears spilled from her eyes. The woman beside her had become one of the very few true friends she had, a sister almost. For a long time she had resisted close relationships, unable to bear the thought of sharing her secrets. She had so many. But Brenna had never intruded on her private thoughts. They had always connected simply as women, wives, friends.

Brenna shifted closer and slipped an arm around her shoulders and Leliana gave in. She leaned against the smaller woman and wept quietly. The queen said nothing for a while, she simply gave comfort, patting her back softly, and that simple gesture undid Leliana further. She had not realised how cut off she'd made herself in an attempt to put a brave face on things.

"What's wrong with Mummy?"

A little hand appeared on her lap, carrying a small pile of twigs, and Leliana sniffed softly and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, silently thanking the Maker she'd forgone makeup after all. When she felt repaired, she pulled away from Brenna and took the small hand in her own, meeting the solemn blue gaze that was so much like hers. Grace stood beside her brother, her face equally concerned and she easily found a smile for her children before spreading her arms and inviting them closer.

"I was thinking of a sad story," she said to them softly as she kissed their hair. "I will be alright. I will think of a happy one next, hm?"

"Will you tell the sad story to us?" Grace asked and Leliana touched the small girl's cheek.

"I will tell it to your Aunt Brenna first and see what she thinks, then perhaps I will tell it to you." She wouldn't, of course, but the minstrel had many such stories she could tell Grace, ones with not so happy endings. She believed in telling her children different tales, the good with the bad. While she wished her children could grow up in a world of only happy endings, they would not. But she could teach them to make them for themselves.

"Alright," Grace said solemnly.

"I don't want a sad story," Rory interrupted. "I want a happy one."

"Cannot a story be both?" Brenna asked.

Leliana smiled at her friend. "Yes, it most certainly can."

The children resumed their game, which now involved exchanging the twigs and making patterns with them. Leliana mused over their choice of playthings. They had toys, many toys. She and Aedan and nearly everyone they knew bought them things. And yet here they sat, playing with sticks.

Brenna's warm hand clasped hers again and Leliana looked over with a smile.

"Thank you, Brenna, I…"

"Sometimes we just need to cry?"

"Yes, sometimes we do." Her smile faded a little as she thought over the reasons for her sadness, the question that had prompted her bout of tears. Aedan, and what had possessed him to take off for an afternoon of drinking and fighting, though she knew neither man had intended to get quite so drunk or get caught in an alleyway by cutpurses. "As you guessed, it is Val Royeaux." She squeezed the queen's hand again. "I do not mind that Alistair told you, I am sorry that we could not."

"I understand. It would be a hard tale to tell."

Leliana nodded. "He is so changed, Brenna. I sometimes feel as if I do not know him." Glancing over at her friend, she continued softly, getting right to the heart of the matter, "I find myself wondering if I ever really did. Our lives have been so separate, but for our bed," she did not blush at the admission, they had always had a very physical relationship, "and our children." Her gaze shifted once again to the happy pair of children sitting in the green grass.

"I don't believe that, Leliana. Not for a minute. I love my husband and I know he loves me, but what you and Aedan have, it's almost transcendent. Everyone can feel it. It's as if your souls are joined." Brenna blushed and patted at her cheek. "Listen to me, I've been reading too much poetry." Glancing down she inspected her abdomen, which still lay flat beneath her dress, despite two months having passed. "I have become so sentimental," she murmured with a secret smile, one Leliana recognised.

"I know the poem," she answered. "_What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined... to strengthen each other... to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories,_" she quoted quietly and Brenna looked pleased. Leliana could never read that passage without thinking of Aedan, particularly now. It never occurred to her that others might.

"You have spent so much time apart. Forgive me if this sounds naïve, but it is only natural that you have both changed, over the years and because of what happened… but it is so obvious that you still love one another." Brenna paused and then continued softly, her voice almost sounded quietly awed. "The way Aedan looked at you last night on the steps, Leliana, he just doesn't love you. You are everything to him."

Why did she need someone else to tell her things she already knew? She knew Aedan loved her, "…but is it enough?" she wondered out loud.

Brenna looked uncomfortable and Leliana regretted the words. Instead, she closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat and recalled the reasons she loved Aedan. Why had she fallen for him? Because even from the first, she had known his soul, had seen the goodness in him, the sweetness. The purpose and the drive to carry it through, no matter the cost. He had been willing to die for them all. If Morrigan had not offered her bargain, he still would have slain the archdemon. But those were the great things. She also loved him for many, many little things. His quiet manner, his ability to nap whenever he wanted, to withdraw and make a peaceful place for himself. The way he organized his life and interacted with others, his respectful manner, his love for his friends. The way Aedan loved, it was selfless.

When she opened her eyes, Brenna looked at her tentatively and Leliana said, "There is little about him that I do not love." Even his faults she understood… his habits, his plain dress and attachment to old shirts. His need for silence, his sometimes less than graceful manners. The clothes he left strewn across their room. It was all a part of him.

"You just need more time. What happened to both of you was so personal and terrible; it is different to fighting a war, or the darkspawn. You are still healing, Leliana. He will wait for you, if you wait for him."

Leliana took Brenna's hands in her own again. "You are so wise, Brenna."

The small woman shrugged. "Perhaps I just have the distance and perspective."

Leliana felt some of the bonds that had held her so tightly unwind and fall away. Brenna was right. Even when you knew the answers, sometimes perspective kept you from applying them properly. Time. They just needed more time and in Gwaren they would have much of it, together. Another poem wrote itself across her mind: _For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause for breath, And love itself have rest. _

"We need a rest," Leliana answered. "Our stay in Highever was not long enough."

"I am glad you are going to Gwaren with Aedan."

Smiling, Leliana nodded. "I am too." She and Aedan would finally embark on something together. Excitement caught her then, the idea of the years that lay ahead. Always she'd measured her time with Aedan in days, maybe weeks. But now, they had years before them, together. With their children. He would never miss another birthday or special occasion. They would be a proper family. Glancing over at her two youngest, she noted that Grace, normally so particular about her ribbons and dresses, had taken off her shoes and hummed quietly to herself as she filled them with red and gold leaves. An industrious frown creased her small forehead and Leliana laughed. Rory still played with his twigs. Gesturing the pair, she leaned over to Brenna and said, "Do not waste your gold on too many toys, Brenna. This is all they need, yes? A garden."

Brenna chuckled and looked down at her stomach again, flattening the material with her palms as if looking for any change. "When did you start to show?" she asked.

"Oh, not for about four months. Aedan was beside himself with worry; he kept a careful watch on my middle."

"Alistair does the same! I feel like a prize pig or something, the way he inspects me."

Leliana giggled. "They are such funny creatures, these men we love."

"That they are. He is so excited, Leliana! As am I, of course. But…" her brows drew together in a light frown, "I knew, of course, how much he wanted a child, not just because he needs an heir, but for himself. He wants to be a father, to give what he never had, I think."

"He will be a wonderful father." Leliana had seen the wistful looks Alistair gave her children. It had been those more than anything else that had prompted her to ask Morrigan for the potion. She could justify her actions in many ways, but to make someone happy, truly happy, was enough for her. "Are you well, Brenna? Are you tired?"

"I feel wonderful, really. I have fainted twice, but both times more due to skipping breakfast. I get a giddy feeling sometimes, but I think it's more excitement than anything else."

"I felt that too," Leliana said. "I napped a lot." She had, she'd been so tired in the early months. Looking at Brenna now she envied the younger woman her energy. Of course, she'd not been married and settled, the Blight had not yet been a distant memory. She and Aedan had only been lovers for about four months. And she'd been overwhelmed by the idea of having a child, of being a mother.

"Did you worry about what sort of mother you would be?" Brenna asked quietly, as if she could read her thoughts.

"I did." Taking in a deep breath, she smiled at Brenna and squeezed her hand. "You will be surprised at how much of it just… comes," she tapped her heart, "from here. You'll know what to do."

Brenna nodded and then asked the question all women needed to ask. "The birth," her voice dropped to a whisper, "Is it so very difficult?"

Leliana took in Brenna's small frame and tried not to let her concern show. "It can be," she said truthfully, not really remembering the pain, but knowing that it had hurt, that it had been hard. "But you will have Nicholas at your side and Taren if you wish it." Taren had been a great source of comfort to her; he'd been so very calm while at the same time sharing her excitement and joy. "And you will have me."

Looking up, Brenna put a hand to her lips and shook her head. "Oh, no, I could not ask it."

"You do not have to. I would not miss it and neither would Aedan. We will come early, just in case." She winked softly. "Aedan and Alistair have kept vigil together before. This time we'll make sure they don't leave the palace, hm?"

Brenna laughed and Leliana laughed along with her.

Rory stood up then and brushed off his pants very carefully and both women giggled at his particular manner. He looked just like Aedan, but not. Then he turned his serious little face to the pair of them and looked from one to the other as if ask, 'why are you laughing?' Brenna held out her arms and he walked confidently into them, cuddling his aunt with much affection.

Kissing the top of his head, Brenna smiled over the soft dark hair at Leliana. "He is so much like the both of you. It's just amazing."

"I look at him and I just see Aedan," Leliana said with a smile. She knew Rory had her eyes, in colour if not shape.

"Oh, Leliana, he has your eyes and your mouth. And your hands. Sometimes when he looks just so, I see you so clearly. Yes, he does resemble Aedan, but he moves as you do. He is very much like you." Brenna paused. "I wonder what my little one will be like; it's so hard to wait!"

"The time will pass quickly, you will see!" Grace had appropriated her lap and Leliana slipped her arms about her daughter. As Aedan considered Rory a gift from the Maker, Leliana considered Grace a gift from her husband. Grace was meant to be their child, she felt that very strongly.

After a comfortable pause in which they both fussed over the children attending them, Brenna looked up and said, "Leliana, may I ask you something?"

A breeze seemed to tickle the back of Leliana's neck and she shivered slightly. "Certainly," she answered.

"Do you think it's odd that both Aedan and Alistair were able to father children?"

"Other Grey Wardens have children," Leliana replied, keeping her voice light, as if she did not discern the purpose of Brenna's question. "Philippe has four, and Garrett has a daughter in Amaranthine."

Brenna gave her a curious look and Leliana sought to remain calm and not avert her gaze. She had suspected Alistair would keep the ritual from his wife, and she had expected this question, if not from Brenna, then from Aedan. She knew she would be much better at hiding the truth from the woman beside her than from her husband.

"You don't think people will suspect that it is not Alistair's child?"

Leliana softened her features and said quietly, "Oh, Brenna. One only has to look at Alistair to see his joy. When they see the way he regards his child and his or her mother, there will be no question. None at all."

The queen looked somewhat mollified and Leliana let the matter rest. An uneasiness stirred her gut, however. If Brenna had asked such a question so soon, Aedan would surely ask the same, if not of her, then Alistair. Could the King lie as successfully, or would he crumble before his brother and confess all? She felt a certain guilt over her part, not only in securing the potion, but in not telling Aedan about the ritual and how his son had been conceived. She did not intend to keep the secret forever, but again, as with the small things, she still sought to protect him from stress.

After dinner she and Aedan worked quietly and companionably side by side preparing the younger children for bed. Luke lounged in the corner of the bathroom, joining the conversation and handing across towels in turn. Leliana enjoyed the cozy scene, though having five of them in the small space might seem excessive, they had traveled together and camped together they shared tents that were smaller.

Luke offered to read to the children, giving them more of the same pointed looks he'd employed the evening before. Aedan took her hand and they retired to their own room. As soon as the door had closed behind them, she stepped into him and raised her face to kiss him. He seemed surprised by her gesture and Leliana realised, belatedly, that she had not been as affectionate towards him as she normally might be. Some of it had been the traveling, but not all. Again, it was that tension and strain between them. Every word or gesture had taken on another meaning as both of them trod delicately about the other, both seeming to want to bridge the gap, but neither knowing quite how.

Leliana circled him with her arms and rested her head against his chest. She listened quietly to the beat of his heart, letting the rhythm of it soothe her. They just needed that time, to be restful with one another.

"I'm sorry, Leli…" he began again.

"I love you, Aedan," she interrupted, quietly and simply, and his face relaxed into a smile.

"I love you," he returned quietly.

He led her to the couch and Leliana sat beside him, happy to talk if that was what he wanted. Happy to listen if that's what he needed. She loved him, and knew he loved her, and though life should never be that simple, she wanted it to be for them, just for now.

They talked of nothing but their day for a while. He amused her with stories of the marketplace and fort and she told him about the children in the garden. It all felt so normal and peaceful.

"Leli," he started and she felt her smile stiffen at his questing tone. "Alistair mentioned something odd last night. He… he lied to me, I felt sure, he never has before. It was very strange. I know you know him well and that you have Brenna's confidence…"

"What is it?" She knew, dear Maker, she knew… Not now, her mind whispered, not now…

"I think he did something, used something… to have a child."

"Used something?" she questioned carefully.

Aedan looked at her and she once again struggled to stay calm and composed.

"He mentioned a bottle. He tried to brush it off as a metaphor or whatever, but he's as bad a liar as I am. And then there's the fact that only the two of us have children, unless…"

"It's Alistair's child, Aedan."

"Of course," he replied, his brow furrowed in thought. He glanced up at her, his light blue eyes serious. "Did Brenna… has she… said anything?"

To relate the conversation she'd had today or not? Could she distance herself? This was Aedan, not Brenna. He would see through her mask, he nearly always did, even when he thought he did not. Their souls were joined…

"Leli?"

"She did, say something." Aedan paled visibly and Leliana swallowed. She knew his feelings on magic. He did not distrust it, exactly, but it bothered him much more than it did Alistair. Dropping her gaze, she needed a second to adjust her composure, she continued. "Brenna was concerned people might not believe the child is hers. I assured her otherwise, of course."

Aedan was nodding, then she felt his fingers touch her chin and he turned her face back towards his. "What bothers you?"

"Nothing, perhaps I had too much sun today."

His brows drew together then and she saw the vague hurt in his eyes and she knew that he knew she had skirted the truth. Drawing in a quick breath, she prepared to give him another excuse, but he spoke first.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Aedan…"

"Leli, please." His tone pleaded quietly and she felt him reaching out towards her and she wanted to tell him to stop, that it would hurt, that he wouldn't understand and that they needed time… he wasn't ready, she wasn't ready…

She had to tell him the truth. If she did not and he found out later, he would remember this conversation. Aedan never forgot anything. Not a single word.

"He used a potion, but it is his child, Aedan."

His brows flew up in surprise and he dropped his fingers from her chin.

"Where, how?"

"I…" An icy chill spread down her spine and to her fingertips and Leliana curled her fingers into her palms. When she glanced at him he looked odd, both scared and excited. It confused her. "I gave it to him," she finally said, knowing she should offer the rest before he had to ask, knowing she would not.

"Leli, where did you get it?"

Time slowed and her stomach heaved. Aedan was a smart man; he'd make the connection instantly. She remembered the moment she'd learned of how Riordan had been conceived. She had wanted to be sick, and besides the confusion, it had hurt. She'd felt as if she'd lost her son, her own child.

"Morrigan," she whispered.

Watching his face was nearly the most awful thing she'd ever done. She knew the moment he figured out the puzzle, the confusion fading before certain knowledge. He made a sound and raised his knuckles to his mouth, and his brows drew upwards and together and then the hurt flooded his eyes, the realization of it all. How Riordan came to be and that she had known and that she had kept it from him. He moved away from her, a quick movement across the cushion that tore at her heart, and then he stood.

"Aedan…"

"No," he stated firmly, warding her off with a raised hand. "No…"

And then he left.

He moved so quickly and left her so stunned she had not the time to stop him, or call out. The door closed behind him and seconds later she heard the outer door to their suite close as well. Still she could not move. Her chest was too tight and she seemed unable to take a breath. Finally, her head spinning, she drew in some air and expelled it again in a broken sob and then she cried for the second time that day, the tears hot on her cheeks this time, falling thickly, gathering at her jaw and spilling to her dress, her lap and her hands. He would come back, she told herself, over and over. He would come back, and she could explain why she'd kept such a secret from him.

He could come back, he had to. He'd taken her heart with him.


	15. A Return to Ordinary

A Return to Ordinary

Fergus dropped his pen and rubbed at his eyes. He was not tired, merely distracted, and had been for over a week now. He found whenever a task did not fully engage him, or even sometimes when it did, his thoughts drifted back towards the cave, the two day walk and the company of an extraordinary woman.

* * *

Highever men worked through the night, and after taking some rest themselves, he and Lucy worked from their end, loosening what they could, piling rocks behind themselves and climbing over increasingly slippery gravel and loose stone in order to chip their way towards freedom. Shortly before dawn a chink of torchlight broke through and then a face obscured their view, a face as grimy and tired as their own, yet filled with the same relief and joy.

"My lord," the face stated, almost questioningly, and Fergus recognised the man at last. Ser Hugh, one of his knights.

"I am here, ser," he replied, showing his face as properly as he could. "Hugh, thank you."

"Ah, Fergus," the man murmured, "You're not out yet. We'll have our thanks and some ale for breakfast, eh?"

Two more hours saw them free, the pair squeezing through a gap barely large enough for Lucy, let alone his larger frame, but the fresh air and the promise of freedom beyond had him expelling all air from his lungs, turning his shoulders, losing more skin from his knees and elbows and somehow scrabbling through. He tumbled down the other side to shouts of alarm from his men and an amused gasp from Lucy, then stood and spread his arms in a somewhat theatrical gesture that reminded him of Aedan.

"I am alright," he intoned solemnly and then his face creased into a grin like no other as he drew deep lungfuls of dust laden air, really no less dank than that behind him, but somehow full of promise, because he had won free of the caves. Turning to Lucy, he inspected her silently for a moment, the men distracted by loosening more rock in order to retrieve the few items they had left behind. He found her whole and peaceful, her face lit with a smile as wide as his own. Though he wanted to reach for her hand, he did not. The urge to hug her passed slowly and he dared not move for fear of giving in to it, knowing the gesture, though perhaps understandable after what had passed, might be misinterpreted. Standing and smiling at one another was enough, for the moment, and soon enough men fussed about the pair of them, ushering them from the caves with blankets wrapped about their shoulders and tin mugs of hot tea thrust into their hands.

The smell of cooked breakfast enticed and Fergus smiled to see Lucy apply herself to the eggs and sausage as heartily as he did. And there was ale, as promised, a lightly fermented brew that tasted better than the tea and the sausages, in his opinion. The men put on a proper campfire feast, grilling bread, tomatoes and even mushrooms to accompany the meal. When offered a ladleful of the sliced fungus, Fergus shook his head and Lucy nearly choked on her mouthful, before swallowing, the movement obviously paining her, then laughing. He laughed along with her and the men looked back and forth between them as if they were mad.

"We have eaten nothing but mushrooms for two days, ser," Fergus explained and the cook nodded in understanding, a smile replacing his bafflement.

"I'm thinking they'll be off the menu for a while then," he replied.

"For a while." Fergus actually liked mushrooms, but nothing ruined a food better than the memory of dry and somewhat tasteless mouthfuls, the crunch of dirt and the knowledge that the next meal would consist of the same, but for the added bitterness of elfroot.

At the thought of the healing herb, Fergus extended his bare foot and prepared to examine his ankle. The sight of his ragged pant leg and grimy skin had him laughing again, almost senselessly as he first imagined, then glanced down to see what the rest of him looked like.

"I am a mess!" he managed to get out and this time everyone laughed along, appreciating that he did not look at all like a Teyrn. Though he dressed better than Aedan, and always had, he did not usually opt for overly frilly garments. But now he looked as if he worked in the mines, or something worse. A pair of socks and boots were provided and the men even offered to boil water for washing before they began the walk back to the castle.

Fergus deferred to Lucy who said, "I just want to get home, if all of you can pretend I look otherwise."

The men laughed good-naturedly and she was given a jacket to wear over her tunic and pants. "You're as good as one of us, madam," Hugh responded and really, she was. No one looked much cleaner, given the work of excavating the cave entrance and a night spent rough.

As they prepared to leave, Lucy enquired after his ankle. "Is it sound?"

"It is, Maker be thanked. I think it was only a strain and not a proper sprain." He paused before offering her an ironic grin. "Had I gone home and put it up, it may have been stiffer for not being used. It seems two days exercise was the proper prescription." Lowering his voice, he said, "The elfroot helped, I am sure, though I'll never be able to down a poultice without remembering the taste of that bitter herb alone, ever again."

She chuckled and patted at her satchel. "I'm glad I had a more practical use other than causing the Teyrn to become lost for two days."

Words seemed to press against his tongue then and Fergus closed his lips and smiled instead. He wanted to offer reassurances and compliment her company. He would like to tell her he'd enjoyed so many aspects of their adventure and that he might have never made such a friend otherwise, that he hoped they could be, or remain friends. But the awkward moment from the evening before replayed across his memory and he deferred. Her gaze did not leave his, however, and he felt that she might have heard the words anyway.

The two hour walk back to Castle Cousland passed both slowly and swiftly. Conversation ranged over many topics and Fergus smiled at the congenial nature of his men. They spoke to him as an equal and included Lucy in their talk. They knew her, of course, probably better than he did. Travers was well liked among his comrades and his sister visited the barracks on occasion.

He saw the grey stone before they reached the edge of the woods and his chest did a curious thing, it both compressed and expanded at the same time. He'd felt it before, this mixture of emotion, when he'd returned to Highever from the Wilds. He had known then that Howe's men held his home and his family had been slain, and he, Travers and Maitland had approached from this very direction, having set up camp not far from the caves. He remembered this view and it caught him now and again when he wandered the woods, the glimpses of grey stone between the treetops, the occasional flutter of flags. The Cousland pennant soon came into view where he'd seen the Howe heraldry five years before and Fergus could not help but remember the long battle to retake the castle.

After spying on the castle for a week, they had infiltrated the town and met with the resistance. Fergus would never forget his profound relief on finding the townsfolk still mostly loyal to his family. He had felt their relief in turn, that he lived and had returned. Knights had been gathered, those who had not been at the castle that fateful night, and emissaries were dispatched to the surrounding bannorn. Almost every able bodied man had been called upon during the civil war and the Blight and Fergus had retaken his home with a handful of knights and poorly armed farmers. They succeeded because of two fortunate happenings. A Landsmeet had been called and Howe had gone to Denerim to further spread his poison, taking his strongest supporters with him, and no one knew Fergus had survived Ostagar. His campaign came as a surprise. Still it had been a bloody battle and more lives had been lost, one being Maitland's, before Highever fell into Cousland hands once again.

Too soon it was time to say goodbye to Lucy and again Fergus stood awkwardly, hands pressed to his sides, face an immobile mask beneath the fatigue and grime. Lucy stepped forward and offered her hand in a polite gesture and he took it, held it, considered raising it to his lips, then did not, simply shaking her small hand instead, as he would a man's.

"Thank you for everything, Fergus," she said and he smiled, happy she had called him by name rather than something more formal.

"And thank you, Lucy. Maker watch over you," he offered.

"You as well."

He dropped her hand and she turned.

"Lucy?"

Glancing over her shoulder, she answered, "Yes?"

"I will…" they were surrounded by men at arms, "…I will let you know when I hear from Travers."

A nod, a smile, and she rounded the gate and the wall and disappeared from view. The courtyard seemed empty without her.

He tried to return to his routine, but found it difficult. He slept much of the day away, then indulged in entirely too much brandy that night which led him to sleep away a good portion of the next day. Business intruded on the third day and Fergus pulled himself out of a daydream to attend to the task of mediating a dispute between two Banns. Something about cows or sheep, or had it been pigs? Or a wall? He could not remember and his mind drifted twice during the discussions and again as the agreement was negotiated.

"So the wall between the pigs has to be at least two feet high then," he finally said in an attempt to focus.

"Sheep, my lord. Pigs don't jump. Besides, we keep them close to the keep, they don't wander about like sheep…"

Jumping sheep and wandering pigs. What were they talking about?

Two days later he sat in his study and stared at a bookcase for an hour before he realised he'd drifted once again. He'd been thinking about the trek through the caves, but not as something he'd rather forget. Instead he'd be remembering conversations and Lucy's various moods and facial expressions. He was not used to being distracted by a woman, particularly not one whose hair needed taming and whose face was streaked with dirt.

He had been slightly distracted by a young woman two years earlier, a daughter of one of the banns, she had flirted shamelessly with him during the entire week of their stay. He'd enjoyed the attention at first, had been flattered by it, and had even considered courting the young woman, acknowledging the fact that both marriage and an heir would be a prudent course of action. Idle gossip had diverted his course, however. He'd been in the treasury, apportioning out wages, a task he liked to do himself, the methodical counting and accounting a soothing task, and he'd heard maids talking. He'd heard them before, in just the same way. The family bedrooms were situated behind the treasury, Aedan's first, and the small guest suite next to it and there were vents in the stone walls. The maids disparaged both the girl and his attention. Apparently she'd tried the same ploy elsewhere and had a certain reputation. Aedan would have known, of course. His younger brother had a talent for reading women. Fergus had thanked the Maker his cheeks could heat and colour in private and then he had worked to defer her attention.

Of course, the last time he'd found himself staring at bookcases had been shortly after he met Oriana. The merchant's daughter had captivated more than his imagination. He felt the tug of old grief and, flicking his gaze away from the multi-hued spines, Fergus focused on the documents in front of him once more. A simple agreement, about trade this time, not pigs, and he read it to the end and signed off on it before allowing his mind to wander again.

Another day passed and he thought he'd regained his focus until Hugh tapped at the neck band of his armour with his sword.

"My lord?"

"Hm?"

"I just decapitated you."

Fergus glanced down at the sword point. "So you did."

"Are you well?"

Shaking off his distraction, Fergus answered in the affirmative and applied himself to his training. He actually enjoyed his bout with Hugh and conceded he did not test himself against the dual wielding rogue enough. Travers and he often traded shield bash for bash and strike for strike and called it a day. Not that they did not get an effective work out, but they had known each other for over twenty years, and enjoyed testing the other's technique. And then they usually retired together afterwards, for brandy or a game of cards or both.

A letter awaited him in his study and Fergus broke the seal, recognizing Travers's hand, knowing that if his knight had penned the missive he lived, but wondering, nonetheless, what had caused him to write a week sooner than expected. He read about the ambush upon Aedan's party with dread, and Peter's possible tainting with a sinking heart. Dropping the thin parchment atop his desk, Fergus closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to drift in another direction entirely, towards his brother.

Aedan had looked well as he'd set out from Highever, and really, he'd been well. Physically. Though still a trifle thin, his stamina had returned and he'd met every strike in the practice yard, his agility surprising as always. Though not as fast as a rogue, Aedan moved quickly, surely, and with the confidence of a man who had fought long and hard, often and well. His brother often tried to shrug off his talent with dual blades, citing other warriors as his superior. He'd even told Fergus that Leliana had bested him in Val Royeaux, kicking him to the dirt. Not to undermine the bard's talent with her daggers, Fergus knew that had Aedan been in peak form, she never might have accomplished such. He'd kept his thoughts to himself, however, recognizing that Aedan needed to reaffirm his skill on his own.

So while he was not surprised to hear none of his men had been injured in the attack and he still worried for Aedan and Leliana. Apparently she had killed two men in the ambush, he could imagine how upsetting it might have been for her to defend her children in such a manner, but thanked the Maker she had the skill and the guts. Of course, his mind wanted to drift towards Oriana then, and her refusal to learn a martial art, but he held resolutely to the letter upon his desk. How did Aedan fare after the intrusion of his old life upon the new? Not well, he imagined. His heart went out to his brother, knowing the internal struggle he would wage and further guessing its effect on the relationship between man and wife.

"They will see it through," he said softly. "They are adored by an entire nation. No one will allow this to touch them, let alone tear them apart." Nodding softly, as if to confirm his arguments to as unseen audience, Fergus folded the letter and slipped it into his desk.

He stopped in at the small chapel then, and offered prayers for Peter and his family and then he walked to the castle gates, carried there by restless legs and wandering thoughts. Casting a quick gaze over his clothing, Fergus returned to his room to change, telling himself he had an ink stain on his pants, that his shirt reeked of sweat and steel. Then he set off towards the village, something he often did, to take a drink at the tavern, knowing he'd find both company and companionship. Hugh elected to play the role of guard and friend and Fergus welcomed the man, knowing he would keep his own council as they walked.

He denied to even himself that he hoped to see Lucy until he found himself taking the long way towards the inn, skirting the cliffs and walking behind the seaside cottages, wondering exactly which one she lived in. He composed a greeting in his head, something casual, not overly formal, just in case he ran into her. "I wanted some air, I am on my way to town, the view from here is worth the detour, were you on your way to the tavern…" But he did not see her. He supposed he might enquire after her to relate the news from Travers's letter but realised that it did not really concern her, though he knew she'd offer her proper sympathies.

Stopping at the end of the line of cottages, he cursed the awkwardness of his situation. He liked her, Maker damn it, and he wanted to see her again. Why could he not just ask her to the castle as he might any acquaintance? Because he was a noble and she was not and ironically, his status protected him more than it did her. Oriana had not been noble, but he'd at least had her father's permission to court her. The proper and correct thing to do would be to wait for Travers to return and express his interest. Gentlemen conducted their affairs in that manner; they did not skulk behind cliff side cottages hoping for a glimpse of brown hair, hazel eyes and a bright smile.

Hugh kept a silent vigil at his side and Fergus exchanged a quick glance with the man, an even quicker smile.

"Well, the air is as fresh as I thought it might be, shall we repair to the inn?"

"As you wish, Fergus."

Hugh knew why they had taken such a detour; Fergus could see it in his eyes.

The tavern held a good crowd and all greeted their lord jovially, the chorus of m'lords gradually dropping away as the ale flowed. Fergus had fought side by side with so many of these men, they had the right to call him by his first name, or so he reckoned. The bartender refused to call him anything but my lord, as did the servers, but he'd long since overcome that particular embarrassment. He'd been called my lord by castle staff since he'd been old enough to answer back.

A game of cards followed a good meal and Fergus won the first hand and lost the second two, not because his mind wandered, but because he should have known better than to play against Hugh.

"Next time I will remember to make you my partner."

"Next time Travers will be home and the pair of you will rob me of a month's wages," the knight replied with a wink.

Brandy replaced ale and someone produced a pipe, someone else a lute and yet someone else a drum. The music flowed as a counter to conversation and card playing at first, then as the third round of Brandy made it past lips, voices rose in song and conversation all but ceased. Fergus happily abandoned his cards and sang along with the townsfolk, his clear tenor a familiar sound to most.

Fergus realised as the song ended and he reached for his drink that he'd not thought of Lucy in perhaps two hours. Of course, the streak had been broken and he grinned ruefully at the amber liquid before taking a long swallow. He wondered what her voice sounded like, when she sang. He had no doubt she liked to sing, she was a happy person and in his experience happy people sang. His parents had sang, his men sang often, Maker be thanked, and even Aedan sang. Thoughts of his brother had him withdrawing from the merriment, briefly, as he remembered the sound of Aedan singing, both with and without Leliana. Aedan did not sing often, he much preferred to dance, and here a smile took his mouth unbidden as he recalled the reason why his brother liked to dance.

"The ladies watch you when you dance," he'd said, following his observation with a broad wink. "They watch us as closely as we watch them, trust me. They want to see how you move."

Fergus didn't mind dancing, but his return argument at the time had been, "And they favour the quick and the agile, hm, over the slow and steady."

Aedan's steps had slowed and he'd laughed and clapped his brother soundly on the shoulder. "Who knows, Fergus, who really knows?"

Inevitably, he wondered how Lucy would dance. Gracefully, he decided, but with confidence in her steps.

Standing, Fergus noted the inn had acquired a lazy spin. He grinned as Hugh stood beside him offering a shoulder if need be. "You're a good man, Hugh," he said and jerked his head towards the rear. "I'll be back in a minute."

The knight insisted on accompanying him down hall toward the privy anyway, taking up a post outside the door. Before he reentered the hallway, Fergus paused, hearing raised voices beyond the closed door.

"You know as well as I do that two days underground with a woman can only lead to one thing," one of the men slurred and Fergus recognised the man, though his name did not immediately come to mind. A fisherman, from one of the recently returned deep sea vessels, the thought.

"Watch your tongue, Patrick," Hugh answered in a low tone.

"You're telling me he didn't have her? C'mon, mate, has she been up to the castle since?"

"No, she has not."

"Not that you've seen, anyway."

Fergus felt like growling, in fact, his throat rumbled as if he had made a sound inaudible though it might have been. He pushed angrily at the door, feeling his anger surge, knowing, dimly that he should pause, take several deep breaths and compose himself.

"The Teyrn is a gentleman, Patrick which is more than I can say for you," Hugh replied, then turned, saw Fergus and ducked his head. "My lord."

Fergus looked down at his balled up fists, his hands clenched so tightly his short nails dug at his palms. He could feel the tremor at his throat, something that rarely occurred, his temper usually being much more even. But to hear a woman he respected and admired insulted in such a way cut to the very core of what he was – a gentleman. And as such, he dropped his hands, knowing that striking the fisherman would accomplish none other than bruised knuckles, embarrassment on all parts, and add weight to the rumours that were so obviously already in circulation.

Blowing out a breath, Fergus turned to Patrick in time to catch a startled nod and quick bow. "M'lord."

"Patrick," he returned, softly. He added nothing else. No words would improve the situation in his opinion. Sometimes knowing what to say included knowing what not to say and so he held his tongue and merely stood as erect as he could, allowing his presence, his supposed nobility, to speak for itself. The fisherman backed away slowly, then fled.

"Fergus…" Hugh began.

Fergus raised a hand. "I know."

He supposed if he'd been to town sooner, he'd have been aware sooner, but always, in the back of his mind, he'd known there would be stories. But they could weather the storm, he had a good name and so did she. As he returned to the common room of the tavern, Fergus realised his night was over. She wasn't in the inn, much as he'd hoped his presence in town might magically summon her, and now he knew why. Leaving the rest of his brandy untouched, Fergus bid his fellows a good night and left the inn, pausing on the threshold as the chill night air swept the haziness away.

Silently he set off for the castle, Hugh at his side.

He stopped at the gates to bid his knight farewell. "Thank you, Hugh."

"Always, my lord."

Fergus nodded, knowing the man used the title purposely there, to state that he would always support his lord, would always stand by him, and he appreciated the gesture more than he could express then and there with his mind unfocused and his heart aching for something he thought beyond his reach.

"Fergus?"

"Hm?"

"Ask her to the castle, for dinner, with her son."

Fergus sighed and shook his head. "I cannot, she is a good woman."

"Exactly."

Frowning, Fergus turned a questioning glance upon his knight.

"She is a good woman, the best sort. Travers would give his assent, if that's what you're waiting for."

His men knew him so well…

"The rumours…"

"Fergus, no matter who you court, there will be tales. It's your lot. But to me it is obvious you care for her, and why not. There will be broken hearts across Highever when she accepts your invitation, Lucy is well thought of." The knight winked then, a grin creasing his face. "Imagine if you'd been caught down there for two days with Matilda Sadler."

Fergus chuckled. Matilda was a scary woman, older than anyone knew and meaner than a starving cat. Not his words, but he'd heard them bandied about often enough, probably from Hugh. He looked over at his knight and saw someone he admired and respected. Hugh was not an overly talkative man, and he often employed language that could curl the hair, but when he spoke, he meant his words.

"I will send her a note, an invitation."

"I'd be honored to deliver it for you," Hugh said with a quick bow.

"You know where she lives?"

"Aye, I do." He paused and that grin spread wider. "It's the cottage at the end there, the one where you stood a while and pretended to take in the view."

Fergus felt the grin pulling at his lips and he gave into it. "Hugh…"

"My lord?"

"Remind me not to play cards against you again."

"Right you are," he answered with a cheeky grin.


	16. Just a Man

Just a Man

Luke extricated himself from Rory's bed when he felt the little boy's head finally loll against his side. Closing the book, he set it aside and carefully carried Grace to her own bed before retiring to his room to read for a while. He'd had an interesting but tiring day.

Shopping with Aedan was fun. They'd ventured out together before, shopping. Leliana found it amusing that they liked to shop together. What she did not know, but probably suspected, was that they preferred to survey a market place by themselves, without her or the children, if they could. Leliana always ended up taking them to the sorts of places Luke would rather not visit - dressmakers, ribbony type shops and such. The Wonders of Thedas could be an interesting stop, but not with Rory and Grace. They always wanted to touch everything and the proprietor did not like that. Besides, some of that stuff should not be touched, really, it defied description and purpose and Luke often got the feeling he might accidentally brush up against something in there and be transported to another country entirely.

Shopping with Aedan always meant looking at swords and daggers, even though they never needed one. The tall warrior seemed to think a new sort of blade might be invented at any moment, however, and liked to keep tabs on the situation. As a rule they avoided Wade's Emporium. The building had been one of the first restored after the siege, but apparently Aedan had been banned by Herren during the Blight. Alistair had sent the armour smiths to Vigil's Keep for a time, to aid in efforts to properly arm and armour the Wardens, and the relationship between the Commander and the 'artist' had degraded further. Wade made good armour though; Luke reckoned his had saved his life beneath the city.

That day they had made a special trip to the docks to procure a fishing pole for Alistair. Aedan knew of a angling shop, he said, that perched on the end of the last pier. Of course the last time he'd visited said shop had been before the Blight and it had since disappeared. They found a suitable replacement; a stall in the small market conducted by the dockside traders had several rods and after picking up each one, Aedan had grudgingly made a choice.

The rest of the afternoon had been spent at the Fort. Luke sparred with Aedan and found the man's stamina and speed much restored. He'd lost the match. Afterwards they sat outside in the weak sunlight, arrayed in small groups about the yard, and talked – with Wardens, soldiers and guards, a general exchange of such gossip as men cared about. Though somewhat taciturn in the morning, Aedan had been good company, both talkative and attentive and, at times, droll. It had been a pleasant sort of day, really, and seeing Aedan and Leliana smile at one another during dinner had capped it off. When he'd heard Aedan and Alistair were missing the day before, only to find out they'd gone out drinking, got drunk and found a fight, Luke had been caught between amusement and surprise. But Leliana seemed to welcome her husband home with open arms and so he supposed that sort of behaviour was acceptable, very occasionally. He'd never seen Aedan that drunk before, but he'd heard stories, mostly from Zevran.

Luke had just picked up his book when he heard one door close, quickly followed by another, the outer door to their suite of rooms, he guessed. Putting aside his book, the young man swung his legs over the bed and padded softly out to the living room. It laid still and dark about him, a single lamp burning in one corner. Thinking he must be mistaken about the doors, Luke turned to retreat to his room and then heard what sounded like… Leliana crying. He did not know the sound well, she wept so infrequently. But after their return from Val Royeaux she had cried in his arms and he'd seen her eyes shine on other occasions. Whatever had happened over there, and he didn't believe for a minute that Aedan had merely contracted a fever, it had shaken his adoptive parents to the core. It had changed them, irrevocably.

Moving quietly towards the door to their bedroom, Luke listened for a moment, not willing to interrupt, but concerned by the sound of Leliana's sorrow. He felt for Aedan, for the taint, and received nothing. His fellow Warden was not in the apartment. He pushed open the door.

"Leli?"

Leliana sat on the couch, her face buried in her hands, and she looked up at her name, her expression hopeful. When she recognised him the light faded from her eyes and Luke's heart seemed to fade with it. Aedan had left and she hoped he would come back. Why? Why had he left? What was going on?

"Luke," she said softly, her voice thick with tears. "Go after him, please. Do not let him do anything…" she hesitated and then nearly whispered, "… stupid."

He did not think he had ever heard her say the word 'stupid' before. It sounded odd coming from her mouth. Stepping forward, he asked, "Are you alright? Can I…"

"Please just watch over him. He is very upset, he is not himself."

That was an understatement. A flare of annoyance stiffened the young man's spine then, anger directed at Aedan. He did not like to see Leliana so upset and, in his opinion, Aedan had not treated her well of late. He wanted to stay with Leliana, to comfort her and make sure she was alright, but she insisted once again that he go after the man who had left her in tears. Frowning and feeling uncharacteristically obstinate, Luke did as she bid.

Aedan had a few minutes head start on him and so he jogged towards the front of the palace, assuming the tall warrior intended to leave the building altogether. He caught sight of Aedan stepping through the front gates and called out.

"Aedan!"

He received no answer. Skipping down the stairs, Luke strode through the gate, caught up with Aedan and grabbed his arm.

"Aedan," he said again, knowing the man had heard him the first time and feeling his irritation rise another notch. Aedan stopped and turned to look at him, but still did no answer. His face was a mask of grief, he looked as if he'd lost something precious, and Luke's anger faded before uncertainty. "Where are you going?" he asked softly, almost afraid of the answer.

Rubbing at the scar on his forehead, Aedan seemed to think for moment before answering, "I don't know."

Luke shivered. The night air felt damp and chilly and neither of them wore coats. Aedan stood there gazing at his boots, as if he didn't feel the cold, and Luke wondered if he would withdraw, slip into that weird state where he seemed to see and hear nothing. He looked as if he might. Frightened now, not understanding either Leliana's distress or Aedan's state of something like loss, Luke grabbed the man's arm and pulled him back towards the palace. He had a feeling if he didn't move him soon the warrior would become immobile, frozen in place. It was too cold for that. Luke did not want to sit on the chill stone pavement and watch Aedan retreat from Thedas. Not tonight.

Aedan tugged against the pull, however, and said, "No."

"Why? What happened? What is going on… why isn't everything fixed, why are you two so upset?" Luke felt like a child as one question followed another. He didn't understand it. When Aedan had been sick, he could see the stress it caused, but he was well now, wasn't he?

"I don't know."

"You must!" Luke insisted, hating the pleading tone in his voice.

Aedan pulled him into a hug then, one of the fierce sort, and he felt the tall warrior trembling against him, with cold no doubt, but perhaps with emotion as well. Something had really upset him. "Luke…" he pulled away and put his hands on Luke's shoulders, "Will you come with me? I want to show you something."

What? Now? More questions pressed against his lips, but he bit them back and nodded, not willing to let this man out of his sight. He'd told Leliana he'd watch over him.

Aedan took him to Fort Drakon. Luke's teeth were chattering by the time they got there and he stopped to grab a pair of jackets when it became clear they would be ascending the tower rather than visiting the Warden's Quarters as he'd suspected. He handed one of the coats over and Aedan slipped it on distractedly, his legs never stopping. They climbed the tower, floor by floor, the upper levels deserted by night, until finally they pushed through the heavy doors that led to the roof.

Luke had been on the roof of the tower before, twice. Aedan had brought him there on his first trip to Denerim. It had been about eighteen months after the Blight, when Riordan was about three months old and Leliana had returned to her post as King's Chancellor. Luke thought at first they might leave him at Gwaren, under the care of the steward and his wife. He would have stayed if asked. Back then, well, even now, he'd do anything Aedan or Leliana asked of him. He adored his adoptive father, not just because he was a hero, or had saved his life, but because he was a really nice man and had welcomed him into his life with open arms. He'd never really known his own father; he had died when Luke was very, very young. He'd pretty much fallen in love with Leliana the moment he set eyes on her. He let dress him in frilly shirts and fuss with his hair just so he could see her smile. Of course, she was a really nice person too, and after the death of his mother, she had stepped into the role so naturally it had surprised him. He remembered asking her about it once, as he'd felt guilty thinking of as a sort of replacement.

"I shouldn't even really need a mother at my age," he said. He'd been fourteen at the time and convinced of his maturity. The memory had a brief smile flickering about his mouth.

"Everyone needs a mother, Luke. And you are fortunate to have two. One who gave birth to you and one who found you when you needed another."

And that was enough for him. He did need her; he needed both of them, together. He didn't know why he felt it so strongly, that they needed to be together, but Aedan and Leliana defined his world in a way. He knew he sort of saw them in a rosy glow, one he'd not let go of, but Luke cherished the stories of their adventures and their love. He often felt as if he lived in a story book with them, in a version of Thedas that was better for having them there. He found it hard to explain, even to himself.

That first trip to Denerim had opened his eyes to a world beyond Lothering or even Gwaren. He'd never visited such a large city and the pictures he'd seen did not do it justice. Denerim sprawled over a vast area and it had neighbourhoods larger than the farm he grew up on. When Aedan asked him what he wanted to see first, the fourteen year old boy had answered decisively: The top of Fort Drakon.

"I want to see where you slew the archdemon."

He didn't stop to wonder if the place might carry awful memories for Aedan; he'd been little more than a child, despite feeling otherwise. To him, the rooftop represented victory, a great moment of history and when Aedan had become the Hero of Ferelden. The Warden had acceded to his request and took him up there. He'd not said much, Luke remembered, beyond pointing out the where the ballistae had stood and the central dais where the great dragon had died. In fact, Aedan had not moved far beyond the doors, but remained almost in their shadow as Luke wandered about trying to picture the battle in his head.

The second time he'd come to the roof had been just after he'd become a Warden. He'd come up here by himself the day after returning to Denerim. Ostensibly he'd climbed the tower in order to escape the oppressive feeling of stone, soldiers and the taint he felt from the Wardens gathered in the city for Alistair's wedding. He'd needed space and the roof beckoned. Much like his first visit, Luke had wandered about the vast plateau of stone and tried to picture the final battle. But as before, the sun defeated his vision, washing the scene with warmth and light where he wanted to imagine darkness, a horde of darkspawn and the archdemon above them all. He had wondered at the time what it must have been like, to have felt so overwhelmed, to have expected to die, and to hope his efforts would not be in vain. He had pondered what it was, truly, to be a Warden, beyond the stories and what had been told to him on the return journey from the village. Touching the scar about his throat, the thin, dark line that had filled with tainted blood and infected him, Luke questioned his life, is future. He'd wanted to be a Warden; he'd made no secret of that. He wanted to be a hero, just like Aedan. But not at sixteen. That visit he'd sat quietly in the centre of the roof and shed a few of tears, just a couple, in private, where no one might see them. He was young, but he could be a man before the other Wardens: brave, a warrior and just like them.

This visit might prove the closest he would come to picturing that last battle. Night clung to the roof like a thick blanket and clouds obscured the stars. Wind almost always scoured the stone and it did now, chill air whistling between the balustrades lining the outer edges. Luke's imagination turned the sound into the cry of darkspawn, the roar of battle. The gust of air across his face might be the downdraft of the dragon's wings, the backlash of a mage's spell. Shivering, despite the jacket fastened securely about him, Luke followed Aedan to the centre of the raised dais, to the spot where he'd slain the archdemon. Aedan peered at the stone for a moment before taking a few steps and crouching down. Luke knelt beside him.

Running a finger through a small groove in the floor, Aedan said, "This is where it all started."

Started? Didn't he mean ended?

Aedan looked up at him, his blue eyes dark and shadowed by more than the night and the clouds in the sky. "I should have died that night, Luke."

Luke nodded; he'd heard this story before, many times, from Alistair, Aedan and even Taren, who had been on the roof with the Circle mages. The odds were against them and the city a wreckage of torn stone and crushed buildings below them. Riordan managed to injure the dragon, but not kill it, and that left only two Wardens to complete the task, and they did. Aedan took Alistair's sword, denying his brother's wishes, and struck the final blow and very nearly died in doing so. According to Alistair, Aedan been surrounded by a shaft of light so intense it hurt the eyes and then the column touched the sky and exploded and they had all been flung across the rooftop, Aedan as well. The darkspawn disintegrated in the blast, leaving a bloody carnage across the stone and Aedan lay as if dead, his skin blistered and burned, his skull cracked and bleeding, his heart apparently still. Sten, the Qunari warrior, carried him back to the ground and Wynne found him in the Fade.

It was an amazing tale and one Luke never tired of hearing. But it had been the end of the Blight, not the beginning.

Looking at Aedan now, he did not know what to say. Though relieved the warrior had not withdrawn as he so often had over the past few months, he did not know how to deal with a man who looked as if he'd lost everything, when, in his opinion, he had more than everything. Tears shone in Aedan's eyes and Luke's breath caught and one of those annoying lumps formed in his throat. Aedan blinked and a few of the tears ran down his cheeks and he sat suddenly, on the ground, his fingers leaving the groove so that he could rub his eyes.

"I'll never stop paying for my life," Aedan said.

Luke leaned forward and touched the groove. It felt the same as the stone about it, smooth, but for the edges, and had already become worn by the ceaseless wind. He tried to imagine what Aedan felt when touching the place where his life had changed forever and he couldn't. He could not understand why he sat there with tears in his eyes. He was alive!

"You are alive…"

"I made a terrible bargain, Luke."

Swallowing over that lump which seemed intent on bruising his throat, Luke frowned, confused.

"I never told you why a Warden must be the one to slay an archdemon."

"Because of the taint, we can't be tainted," Luke replied, thinking the answer obvious.

Aedan shook his head. "That's part of it. But there is more." He took a deep breath. "The archdemon contains the soul of an Old God and when it dies, that soul is released and will seek a host in the nearest darkspawn. They are soulless creatures, Luke, and if such a thing were to happen, the soul would become almost immortal unless we could kill every darkspawn in existence." Which they could never do, even Aedan had finally acknowledged that fact. The best they could hope for was to keep them at bay, to the furthest recesses of the Deep Roads.

"If a Grey Warden strikes that blow, however, the archdemon will seek him out instead. The taint calls to it, I suppose. But men have souls and two cannot exist in one body."

Oh, dear Maker, what did this mean? Luke held his breath and waited for Aedan to continue.

"The body is destroyed. The Warden ceases to exist."

"You mean… dies?"

"Yes."

"But…" Aedan was alive…

"I am alive," he said.

"I don't understand."

Aedan held out an arm and Luke moved next to him and the arm settled about his shoulders. "Luke, what I am about to tell you is not known by many – Leliana knows, Alistair, Zevran, Philippe. I hope you will not think less of me for what I did. I hope it will help you to… understand."

Understand? What had he done? Luke was truly frightened now, but he leaned into Aedan, refusing to believe the man he admired above all others could do anything that could make him turn away. If Leliana, Alistair, Zevran and Philippe stood by his decision, whatever it was, Luke would too.

"I made a bargain with a witch." Oh, Maker, Andraste, holy… "I gave her a child." What? "I have another son, Luke. His name is Cian, and within him dwells the soul of the Old God."

Luke could not seem to pull air into his lungs.

Fresh tears filled Aedan's eyes and ran down his cheeks as he continued. "He looks like," his voice broke, "he looks like Rory, like me. Maker, Luke," his shoulders shook, "He is maybe…two months older? Ugh, why?"

He had seen Aedan cry like this only once before: when he'd made him a Warden. Aedan had held him, clung to him, crying as if his heart would break. Luke did not remember much about the night, but he recalled Aedan's tears and his arms, which had never let him go, not once. Aedan held him the entire time he fought the taint in his blood and what he'd sipped from the chalice. Luke often wondered if he'd lived because of that bond, because Aedan had refused to let him go. So he held him in the same way now, wrapping his arms as tightly as he could about him and he let him cry, not really understanding much of what he'd said, but loving him anyway, because he believed with every fibre of his being that Aedan as a good man and that any bargain he struck had been something he'd done for the good of all, for Ferelden.

As his thoughts coalesced, Luke had more questions than answers. A child, another child, slightly older than Riordan. Did that mean… Aedan had slept with someone else, this witch? Is that what tore Aedan and Leliana apart? This… infidelity? They had not been married before the end of the Blight, but they had been lovers, in love. They had declared themselves to one another in Orzammar. Leliana had told him the story many times. How long had Aedan carried this secret, had Leliana only found out tonight? No, it must have been before then, if this caused the trouble between them.

Aedan quieted fairly quickly, but seemed content to rest against him and an odd sort of relief and gladness swept through Luke, that he had been here for Aedan when he'd needed him. The older man seemed to be thinking. He stayed silent, his gaze resting on the mark in the stone between them, but it didn't feel as if he'd withdrawn, left Thedas behind. He merely thought. Luke looked at the chip in the stone and tried to imagine the force of the blow that had marred the smooth granite floor. Surprisingly, it wasn't hard. The whole of Ferelden hung in the balance, it had to be a final and decisive strike, and if he knew it might take his life also, he'd have put everything he had into it. A last act of strength and maybe defiance. He'd have cut into stone too, he hoped.

Glancing up at Aedan then, Luke looked at him differently. He'd seen him emotional before, Aedan rarely kept his feelings in check; he lived life out loud, which is why the odd silences had been so disturbing. Every man liked a quiet moment, but not like that. He'd seen him vulnerable before, sort of, the night of his Joining and with Leliana on occasion, recently. But he'd not seen such fear or remorse; he'd not seen such darkness in those light blue eyes, as if he had thousand terrible memories. Aedan had other secrets, he realised, beyond this one. He'd done things, had to do things, over the course of his life that he'd rather not have, over and over, things that he would never be privy to. Luke decided he did not want to know any of it. Leliana had secrets like that, stories of being a bard he'd never hear, and Luke thought that maybe that's what had drawn the pair of them together in a way, that hidden darkness. He couldn't help the shiver that rippled across his shoulders at such thoughts.

"You are cold, come, let's get out of this wind," Aedan said. He sounded composed, but tired.

"Can we go back to the palace?" Luke asked, hearing the plea in his tone. He bit his lips shut and looked away. Leliana would forgive Aedan this, Luke was sure of it. She probably already had. She'd been worried enough about Aedan to send him along. You did not worry for those you did not care for. It did seem odd that Aedan had been the one to leave though, if it had been his secret…

"Yes, we have to go back." Aedan gripped his shoulder. "I made Leli a promise once, that I would never run from her. I have been a terrible husband, Luke. Weak, selfish…"

"Aedan, don't." Luke did not want to hear this, no matter how much Aedan needed to tell it. He wanted Aedan and Leliana to remain perfect in his mind; he didn't want them to be like everyone else.

"Sorry," Aedan said gruffly and released his shoulder. "I'm just a man, Luke."

Luke shook his head in denial and then he stopped and nodded slowly. "Alright," he answered then, as if he gave Aedan permission to be less than perfect. "But you're better than most." Aedan gave him an odd look, then a sort of grudging nod in return.

They stood and Aedan gazed down at the notch in the stone, his face somber. "I always thought Rory was a gift from the Maker. That He had given me a second chance at being a father. A child of my own. That He had forgiven me for being a coward." His glance flicked away from the floor and out over the rooftop and a distant look entered his eyes and Luke knew he relived the battle then, that final, terrible battle. He stood quietly by and let Aedan drift through his memories for a while. He thought of himself as a sentinel, silent, still, but there.

Afterwards, as they walked back through the dark, quiet hallways of the Fort, Luke asked some of his questions. "Is that's what's wrong… between you and Leli? This other child?"

"No." Aedan glanced at him. "Leli's known about Cian since before we were married."

"Oh." That made no sense whatsoever…

"We met him, though, in Orlais. We had never seen him before."

"Oh!" That made more sense, sort of…

"Luke, I don't know if you'll understand, but the ritual? The reason I am alive? Riordan…" he trailed off again, that odd hurt marring his face. "I thought he was mine."

Luke finally put it together. Two months separated the boys, Aedan's natural sons. Whatever he'd done in order to… conceive this other child, it had given him Riordan as well. Why did that upset him so? Maybe he felt as if he'd cheated somehow?

"He is yours, Aedan. He looks just like you, and Leli. He belongs to both of you; I don't care how he came about." He'd never be able to look at the small, dark haired boy in the same way again though, knowing he was a product of magic. It was eerie. Is that why he had such lucid dreams? And… oh, Maker, he dreamed of a boy just like him, that he called his brother. Luke shivered again, despite the relative warmness of the inside of the Fort. This would all take quite some time to get used to.

Aedan stopped and turned to face him. "Thank you, Luke, for coming after me, for listening to me. I'm sorry I told you such terrible things. You should not have to hear the darker side of life, not at your age."

Despite everything, the oddness of the night, the lingering sadness in them both, Luke suddenly realised that Aedan was… Aedan again. He was there, fully, completely. He was the man he'd been before he went away, less obsessed, more humble, but the same strong warrior he'd met all those years ago in Lothering.

"Thank you for telling me and don't worry, I understand it's all… secret." He looked down a second. "Will you fix things with Leli now? Whatever it is?"

"Yes." Aedan smiled and touched his cheek in a gentle, fatherly gesture. "You're a good man, Luke. I'm proud to call you my son."

Luke blinked a bit, feeling the weight of the evening press behind his eyes, which he knew were wet now. He ducked his head again and nodded, not trusting his voice, and then his father swept him into another crushing hug and he hugged him back, tightly.

* * *

_A/N: This chapter was not in my outline. My outline called for a Luke chapter after 'Hobbies', but I skipped it so I could write Leliana next as the story wanted to flow in that direction. And then, of course, we had to check in on Fergus. I do think Luke's chapter does fit better here, but this is not what I intended to write for it. But sometimes they write themselves, eh? I think both Luke and Aedan guided my 'pen' here and I never mind listening to them, particularly when they have something so important to share._

_While writing this chapter I reread several chapters of 'Gifts' – Luke's Joining, Aedan confessing to Leliana he'd made Luke a Warden and the subsequent run to the top of the tower. When writing that last chapter, the confession, I listened to a song by Coldplay called 'Trouble'. It came on the radio just as Aedan entered the large dining room at the fort and saw Leliana and I got chills. His thought process at the time was basically 'crap, crap, crap, how do I tell my wife, the woman I love, that I have tainted my son?' The song fits again here, so well, as Aedan confesses his part in the Dark Ritual to Luke. This time it's for both of them, but perhaps more so for Luke as the younger man feels things spin away from him when he learns for the first time, properly, that Aedan is a man, just like him, sometimes frail, often afraid, vulnerable, and always… so very human._


	17. Generous Hearts

Generous Hearts

The moment his fingers connected with the chipped stone, he'd felt it, his reason for climbing the tower. This was where it had all begun. The final battle had ended the Blight, and then they had a new task: what to do with the rest of their lives.

Then he told Luke what he considered his darkest secret. Why? He did not know, but as the words fell from his lips he felt the weight of it roll from his shoulders once more. Did it still rest so heavily, after all these years? He'd not thought so, but with their recent adventures in Val Royeaux, meeting Cian, the circumstances that surrounded the existence of his first born had cycled backwards once more. The deed, the bargain, did not plague him as it once had, despite the emotion he felt lurking behind his words. He had made peace with his decision, or he so he thought until hearing how Riordan came to be.

Now he doubted himself again, horribly. Just as he'd begun to question the rightness of everything he had, he felt as if his son had been taken away from him and that he and Leliana's marriage had been based on a lie, a trick, a reminder of his folly. As he gave in to the sorrow and guilt, Luke held him and he cried for the young man too, that all of his might lie in his future.

Later, Aedan gazed down at the notch in the stone and his face felt stiff in the wake of the emotion that had taken hold of him. "I always thought Rory was a gift from the Maker," he explained to Luke, his voice soft. "That He had given me a second chance at being a father. A child of my own. That He had forgiven me for being a coward."

Had forgiveness eluded him? Or had the Maker guided the hands of another? He would have to ask… Leli. An invisible hand gripped his heart. He needed to return to Leli.

Taking a breath, he looked up from the stone and out into the darkness of the night. The windswept rooftop stretched out around him, and he could see it all: the purple fire from the dragon, the flashes of spells from the battle mages scattered between the heaped darkspawn bodies. He could smell the blood and the taint; he could feel it, the horror of it, the fall and rise of hope as the dragon battled on beyond the scope of their imagination. And then the final blow and the moment of his 'death', when he'd thought he died, that the ritual hadn't worked. Despite the searing pain and fear, as he flew towards the sky he'd found a sort of peace. He had remembered his companions and his family and he said goodbye. Only it was not the end. He continued traveling with the soul of the archdemon towards Morrigan only to fall away as it entered her and become lost in the Fade until Wynne had found him and pulled him back to Ferelden. He remembered the pain and the surprise of waking up and being alive.

As he relived the experience, he realised that Riordan had been a gift of sorts, whether intended or not, a residual effect of the bargain he had made. He could not decide if such a thing was good or bad, Riordan was a child, his child, his and Leliana's? Good and bad could not be assigned to a child, he was, he existed, and he had given them both such joy and purpose. For that, no matter how Rory had come into being, Aedan thanked the Maker. But what had been or would be the price?

He would pay it, willingly, he knew, whatever it was. A sense of acceptance washed through him and the tightness in his chest eased and a warmth suffused him despite the cold.

They descended from the roof, Luke shivering, his teeth chattering with cold. He sensed the unasked questions from the young man, about why they had come here, the story he'd told, why he had run from Leliana and the oddness and awkwardness that lay between he and his wife. He'd felt the weight of Luke's gaze often enough over the past couple of days; he'd seen the pensive look on his son's face as he tried not to ask what had happened, over and again. Maybe by sharing what he had tonight he'd satisfied some of Luke's curiosity and diverted his attention from the story he did not want to tell: why his back still pulled and itched oddly at times, why he never took his shirt off anymore and why he had come back from Orlais a near broken man.

"Is that's what's wrong… between you and Leli? This other child?" Luke asked, his tone tentative.

"No. Leli's known about Cian since before we were married."

"Oh." Luke sounded confused.

"We met him, though, in Orlais. We had never seen him before." _He saved my life, again, that oddest of all children, my first born son._

"Oh!" Now he sounded relieved, as if he did indeed have an answer.

"Luke, I don't know if you'll understand, but the ritual? The reason I am alive? Riordan…" that odd grief gripped him again, as if he'd lost something. "I thought he was mine."

Luke regarded him quietly a moment, his brown eyes thoughtful. Then he seemed to reach a conclusion. "He is yours, Aedan. He looks just like you, and Leli. He belongs to both of you; I don't care how he came about."

He was right; Aedan wanted him to be right. Stopping, he turned to face the young man. "Thank you, Luke, for coming after me, for listening to me. I'm sorry I told you such terrible things. You should not have to hear the darker side of life, not at your age."

"Thank you for telling me and don't worry, I understand it's all… secret." Luke glanced down briefly. "Will you fix things with Leli now? Whatever it is?"

"Yes." Aedan smiled and touched his cheek. Luke was so young; it was tempting, always, to treat him as a boy. "You're a good man, Luke. I'm proud to call you my son."

Then Luke looked like a boy, a tall, lanky youth, and he tucked his chin towards his chest, probably seeking to hide that youthful aspect. Aedan clearly remembered doing the same. He should clap him on the shoulder, grunt reassuringly, treat him like a man, but he couldn't. Stepping forward, he pulled him into another hug, as a father hugs a son, and Luke hugged him back, only this time he could tell that Luke was comforting himself for a change, and not offering what he thought someone else needed.

He stood there in the dark, quiet hallway and held the boy, the young man, and remained calm, strong. Besides the fact he'd visibly upset Luke, Aedan felt calmer and stronger than he had in a long, long time. The chill wind atop the tower had done more than seep into his bones, it had lifted the fog that had clouded his vision, obscured his thoughts and dulled his perception for months. Every bite of cold air, ever shiver had reminded him he was _alive_.

That Leliana had kept the secret from him still hurt dully, but he thought he understood, maybe. Obviously she had guessed how he would react, or had it been something else? Did she already know the price, had she paid it in some way? Only she could tell him and so he had to return to her. Not just to hear her out, but to apologise to her – for running away, again, and for everything else.

Luke released him and Aedan stepped back. "Let's go."

The pair did not leave the fort undetected; Zevran detached himself from the shadows as they stepped from the last stair, his blonde hair catching the torchlight where a second before had been only darkness.

"Is all well, Aedan?" he asked, not hiding the concern in his eyes.

Aedan gripped his shoulder and nodded. "It will be. Have you been waiting here for us?" Had Zevran followed them to the roof?

No smirk, no evasive tone, no spark of mischief lit the elf's eyes as he made his answer. "Of course. I am ever at the ready, my friend."

"And I thank you for it. I… I had a story to tell Luke, the last of the Grey Warden secrets."

Understanding flashed in his amber eyes and Zevran looked towards Luke as if to gauge the young man's reaction to hearing the true purpose of a Warden and the bargain Aedan had made in order to avoid his fate.

Putting on a brave face, Luke said, "We do what is necessary."

Aedan held his breath. The word 'necessary' balanced, teetered, on such a fine line. How many times had he been tempted to cross that line, how many times had he stepped over it? The likelihood of another Blight occurring in Luke's shortened lifetime was extremely slim, but he would still live as a Warden and have to make decisions like one. What did Luke's future hold?

The weight of the tower of stone above them suddenly seemed to press upon his shoulders and Aedan straightened his spine and lifted his chin. "I must return to the palace, Zevran. Will you meet me there tomorrow? We have much to catch up on."

"Of course."

Would he tell the elf of Riordan's origin? Probably. Zevran could help him decipher the meaning, if there was any, behind Morrigan's gift. Had she intended it? Leliana could tell him that and the urgency with which he needed to talk to his wife surged through him.

They conducted the walk back to the palace in silence, the contemplative sort, and his need to talk to Leliana mutated into an anxiety, fluttering at the back of his throat, curling in his gut and causing his fingers to flex and tremble. She would forgive him, he hung onto that hope. For running, for being selfish, for forgetting he was alive. It did not occur to him that he should forgive her, in his heart, she did not require it.

Aedan paused outside of the apartment. "You go ahead, Luke. I'll… I'll be in presently. I need to…" _breathe_.

He heard voices; she had been waiting in the living room. Then he heard Luke's bedroom door close and silence. Did she wait still? Was she sitting or standing, did she look towards the door? He remembered standing outside his door at Castle Cousland, unable to enter the room, knowing she was in there, but afraid to face her. That had been the day he'd told her of the ritual. He'd fallen asleep in the hallway, propped up by a hard stone wall and cold floor.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and saw her sitting there, hands in her lap, her face pointed downward as if she studied her tangle of fingers, and he was hit with such remorse he nearly staggered beneath the weight. He stood still, frozen, and waited for her to beckon him forward, feeling strongly that she needed to invite him to reenter the apartment and therefore her life.

Standing up, Leliana let her hands fall to her sides and looked at him, her eyes dark in the small light of the lamp. They stared at one another and he felt the distance between them, yawning but not empty, dotted with shadows and secrets, yet still lit by the joy of what they had and their hope. He could feel her hope too and he didn't wait for her invitation, he took what he wanted.

Aedan strode forward and wrapped his arms around her and held her close, feeling the startled breath against his chest. "Maker, Leli, I'm so tired of saying sorry." He was, he really was. "Forgive me, love, please. I…" he didn't know what to say next. He had so much to apologise for… "I love you," he finished and then stopped speaking altogether and just held her, grateful for the feel of her arms about him and the weight of her head against his chest as she leaned into him.

"You came back," she murmured.

"I promised you I would not run from you. I didn't mean to go, Leli, not far. I," he'd needed air, "you caught me by surprise. I needed to think and… breathe."

"I am sorry, Aedan."

"No," he said. "Don't apologise. I know you couldn't have known for long, you found out in Val Royeaux, didn't you? You were protecting me, as you have been for the past few months and… I understand." Pulling away slightly, he looked down at her face. "I told Luke… about Cian."

Her eyes widened, "Oh!"

"He needed to know, Leli. He is one of us, a Cousland and a Warden. I should have told him long ago. I'm tired of the secrets and lies, between all of us." He took a breath. "And it was on my mind…"

She nodded her understanding, but still looked somewhat taken aback. Taking her hand, Aedan led her again to their bedroom, wanting more than one wall between them and their eldest son, knowing that what they had to talk about would be too much for him to hear that night, hoping that one day they could tell him more. He had an awful legacy to leave Luke and he wanted to make sure the young man was more prepared for it than he had been. He wanted Ferelden's youngest Warden to find the balance he still struggled with.

He sat again on the couch at the end of their bed and invited her to sit next to him.

Then he said, "Let's start again."

Tears which had been ever present in her large, blue eyes rolled down her cheeks. She did not cry for long and he sensed they were tears of relief rather than loss and he held her quietly until she composed herself. Though she showed more emotion to him and their family than she did to others, Leliana was not prone to tears and the frequency with which she had shed them during the past few months tugged at his heart. He knew he was the cause of her sorrow and the remorse that had nearly paralyzed him rose and swelled again, leaving a bitter taste in the back of his throat. 'I do not deserve her', he told himself, then pushed the thought aside. He did not care what he deserved, only what he wanted and it was _her_, happy and whole.

Finally she looked up and said, "You are here."

"I am."

"No, you are really here." She looked afraid to blink, as if he might disappear in that quick moment of darkness.

Aedan knew what she meant. He had not retreated as they all expected him to. He'd needed a moment of quiet, but not the nothingness. He'd needed perspective and found it, unexpectedly, on top of Fort Drakon.

"I am here," he repeated before lifting a finger to stroke her cheek. "I have been running for too long, from my memories, my inability to deal with… crap," he smirked at his use of a rather inelegant term, "and from you. I'm tired of waiting to feel better, fixed, normal. I might never be, Leli. I'm a different man, but the same, but…" he trailed off and shrugged. "You have better words than I do."

A surge of unexpected energy caught him. Visiting the tower and recalling the bargain he'd made with Morrigan, sharing it with Luke, had reminded him he was alive.

"I went to the tower, Leli, where all of this," he gestured the air vaguely, "began. I have wasted so much time in remorse…" he took both of her hands. "I'm sorry I've not been here for you. Not just these past few months, but for years." Hanging his head, that very regret he wanted to cast aside washing through him again, he repeated softly, "Years... Maker, I am a fool."

Leliana had said nothing and, peeking up at her, he saw her regarding him with a slightly stunned expression. He grinned and that small crease formed between her brows, her eyes now clearly communicating the fact she thought he'd fallen and hit his head at some point. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to the crease, to her forehead. Taking her face between his hands, he touched his nose to hers, reveling in the joy of all the small sweet touches, the simple affection that had fled over the course of the past few weeks. "I did not hit my head," he whispered. "I'm thinking clearly, just in case you're wondering. I've been in a fog… I feel as if I've finally woken up. I'm sorry it took me so long. Will you forgive me? You must," he kissed her, "for I will not let you go. I will hold you closer, as I did before. My heart is always yours, remember? 'Til death parts us."

The tears welled again and she blinked them away.

"I should be angry with you, but I cannot be," she finally said. "I just want us to be happy again. I missed you." Her arms tightened about him in a warm and welcoming hug, and he could feel her trembling and the guilt tried to capture him again. What had he done to this woman? Why had she stayed?

He rested his cheek against her soft hair and said her name, softly, "Leliana." He kissed her hair. "I missed you too." They had just spent over three months together and here they were saying they had missed one another. "I have been so selfish," he said, unsure if he'd told her that, or had simply thought it, over and over.

"We both drifted, Aedan, I am perhaps as much at fault as you."

"No," he stated, preferring to believe it was entirely his fault.

"Yes," she affirmed. "I should have stayed by your side, at the Vigil. We should have been together. You may not have lost yourself underground if I'd been there, always, for you to return to."

She was wrong. It pained him to say it, but he did it anyway. "I am glad you did not. I would have hurt you more often. The fever, the obsession, it obscured everything. I was so angry for so long, I was exhausted. I would have broken your heart each and every time I staggered out of those tunnels and slept away the days in between, only to return, always, to my quest."

She looked prepared to argue the point and then let it go with a soft sigh, dipping her head. Capturing her chin with his fingers, he lifted her face and said, "I always knew you were there, love. Even if you weren't at the Keep. You, my children, you are all what kept me going, even when I didn't acknowledge it."

Leliana remained uncharacteristically quiet and so he decided to push on and fill the void between them with his words, something he had not done in a while.

"Do you forgive me for walking away, Leli? I'm sorry. I meant to come back, truly, with or without help from Luke."

"I was so frightened, Aedan."

"I'm sorry."

"I wanted to tell you so many times, but you were either too sad or too happy and…"

"You don't need to explain."

"But I do. When she told me about Riordan I reacted almost as you did, Aedan. I thought I might be sick, I thought I had lost my son."

Of course she had, he'd known that, after he had calmed, he'd known she would feel the same.

"And..." she hesitated and gazed up at him with her clear blue eyes, "…I did not want to give him up. I wanted him to be mine, only mine, just for a while longer. I wanted Rory to be my gift to you, Aedan. Our child. Something only we shared."

"Oh, Leli," he breathed and gathered her in his arms again. He understood and heart wrenching sympathy passed through him. He kissed her lips gently. "But he is ours, only ours," he whispered to her. "We made him together, you and I."

They had, he understood now, the truth of Luke's words sinking in. No matter what magic had aided their course, Riordan was theirs.

He was afraid to ask his next question, but he did, wanting this matter firmly behind them. "What did she say, Leli, why did she do it, did she know he…?"

Leliana looked as if she might weep again and he waited patiently for her to compose herself, knowing it must have been a difficult conversation. All of their dealings with Morrigan had been difficult, and yet the witch seemed destined to be intricately linked to them for the rest of their lives.

"I am not sure if I fully understand her motivations, but I think she did it for you, Aedan, and for me. She saw how much you wanted a child and how hard it was for you to…" she left the rest unspoken; they both knew what she referred to: the act of giving Morrigan a child. Aedan felt his cheeks redden. Even after all these years, the memory of that night flustered him.

"She asked for nothing in return?"

Leliana shook her head.

"What of Alistair?"

Leliana's face closed before him and his heart sank. Maker, what had she given so that Alistair may have a child?

"Aedan, I…" after a moment's hesitation, she told him of the deal she had struck. "I told her I would let you answer her call, when the time came."

She would let him go? No! Aedan's heart seemed to still and he held his breath a second before letting it out in a rush.

"I will never leave you Leliana. Never." He took her hands and held them tightly. He would find a way out of this bargain; he would not be in debt to Morrigan again, even for Alistair's sake…

Aedan closed his eyes then, and rested his forehead against Leliana's, the energy he'd felt before draining away. Maker, he would. He'd done it for Alistair the first time, in part, so that all they had worked for would not be lost. "Her call?" asked quietly, acceding to it already, in a fashion, before he even knew its purpose.

"When Flemeth returns."

Leliana had been by his side when he'd struck a deal with Flemeth. She had disapproved of his duplicity before Morrigan, but had understood his motives when they discussed it later, privately. Flemeth had saved his life and Alistair's, she had safeguarded documents vital to their cause, she had given them the encouragement they needed to turn from disaster and strive for victory. She had given them her daughter, and though the purpose of that last had been thrown into question by the revelations found in her grimoire, Aedan still clung to an odd sort of hope: that Flemeth saw something, knew something they had all missed. Maybe he was a fool and they were all pawns in some horrible game the elder witch played, but while he had life and purpose, he would move forward and be grateful for it.

He recalled then, the conversation he'd had with Morrigan his last day in Val Royeaux, out on the balcony. She had not asked him to help her, he had offered, out of guilt, gratitude and friendship. He had told her he would help her because they were friends. Had she not trusted his word? Or had she not believed that Leliana would let him answer that call?

"I already gave her my word," he managed finally. "She asked me in Val Royeaux, if I had killed Flemeth. I told her I had not, but she already knew." And he had not told Leliana of the bargain. Another secret. Aedan felt his shoulders slump. "I," he began.

"You had other things on your mind, Aedan, you would have remembered, and told me." Leliana said. "What made her ask you about Flemeth?"

"Cian 'saw' her, maybe, she thinks."

They both remained silent a moment, no doubt contemplating Cian's far seeing dreams.

"When you go, Aedan, I will go with you. We will do this together."

Aedan wanted to say no. This was his debt. He made the hard decisions, always. The year of the Blight and afterwards, he had always been the one to peer into the grey and make the choice. Then those choices haunted him until the next one, which always seemed harder, not easier, given what he'd had to do before. But always he'd made the decision alone, had taken responsibility for the other parties. Meeting her gaze, blue eyes to blue, he wanted to take a hold of her cheeks and say no. He wanted to make the choice for her. He could not. "Leli…" he sighed. "It is my price."

"It is ours." She took a breath. "Aedan, I might be silly to believe this, but had we said no, there in Val Royeaux, both of us, I think she still would have given me the potion for Alistair."

Aedan recalled then, one of the things he had always admired about Leliana: her purity of heart, her _want_ to believe the best, even though she had seen the worst. He'd shared that with her once; it had been something that connected them. That very belief had allowed many walk away from him with their lives, despite the number of people had had to kill.

"You have a generous heart, love."

"As do you. She is a part of our family, now, for better or worse. They both are. Neither you nor I could stand by if Cian or Morrigan was in danger."

She was right. He touched her heart then, putting his fingers to her chest. "Alright, we'll do it together."

They rested gently against one another for a time, neither saying anything, both lost within their thoughts. That he loved Leliana had never been in question, or that she loved him in return. What seemed to have come between them, he realised, was the fact that they no longer knew each other as well as they thought they did. They matured, and drifted. She knew they had, he had not. It would be naïve to think it might never happen again, but he hoped it did not. They would be together always now, in Gwaren and beyond.

Leliana stirred finally and looked at him, her face caught in a wistful expression. "Do you think we could just let it all go now? All this confusion and reticence between us? Take a deep breath and blow it all away. I am so tired, Aedan. I do not want to be uncertain anymore, I just want to be in love with my husband."

Should he be the one to say it was never that easy? No, not this time. He wanted her too much.

"Yes," he answered. "Let's start again." He kissed her to seal their bargain.

* * *

Aedan rarely woke before Leliana, but when he did, he liked to indulge in her favourite pastime. This time he did not have to even turn his head, he lay on his side and she faced him, they had fallen asleep in that manner and had apparently not moved. He watched her sleep.

He knew she liked his eyes and he liked hers too, the clear blue of a summer sky. But they were closed now. He studied her lashes and full cheeks and lips, the curve of her jaw. Red, silken hair fell across one cheek and covered her neck and he had to resist the urge to smooth it away so he could see more of her face. Though undeniably beautiful, her face meant more to him than that. It was the face of his wife, the person he'd chosen to spend his life with. He could close his eyes and picture every detail, perfectly, from the way her lips gently pouted to the fine lines that appeared about her eyes when she smiled. Her deep blue eyes could be her best feature, maybe, though her lips were certainly very attractive. As his gaze flicked from one to the other, gauging each, her eyes opened. Aedan smiled and she did too, and after kissing her, he still had not come to a definitive conclusion. And so he repeated his exercise of the night before, exploring every inch of her with his lips and his hands and he became so distracted by her many other wonderful qualities that he soon ceased to think at all.

The day would wait for them, as it so often had in the past. There would be the usual knowing looks if they appeared _after_ breakfast (or lunch), rosy cheeked, hand in hand, oblivious to appointments missed and the lateness of the hour. But as he lay on his back contemplating the patterns thrown across the ceiling by the warming sunlight, Aedan felt as if all Thedas had let out a long held breath. It hadn't of course; it had been Leliana, curled at his side.

"No one has knocked at our door," he said quietly.

"I think Luke is probably so relieved we are still in here, making an appropriate amount of noise, that he will not dare knock until he thinks we might require sustenance."

Laughing softly, Aedan replied, "Then let us take this day, love, and spend it together, in here." His hands began to roam again and she giggled. "We still have a lot of catching up to do."


	18. A Suitable Replacement, Part Two

A Suitable Replacement, Part Two

Alistair opened his eyes having been pulled from a lazy daydream by an insistent buzzing. Grass tickled his cheek as he rolled his head to the side and he smelt the sweetness of it and the warm earth beneath. Breathing deeply, he sighed out contentedly and tried to focus his eyes on the clover that studded the lawn a short distance away. There, a fat bee busied about the browning flower heads, alighting on one after the other in a pattern he could not discern. Other sounds began to tug as his consciousness and Alistair blinked a few times, yawned and sat up, rubbing at his eyes.

Sitting beside him, Luke turned and offered him a warm smile, his brown eyes lit with happiness and the same contentment Alistair felt. "Afternoon, your Majesty," the young man said in a slightly irreverent tone.

"Hm," Alistair replied, peering out beyond his grassy blanket to determine the source of the other sounds. The giggles came from Grace, of course, and Brenna. The two girls, with her diminutive stature and impish grin, his wife appeared more girl than woman at that moment, had their heads bent together as if they shared a secret. Leaning towards Luke, Alistair asked, "What are they gossiping about?" Did it really start so young?

Luke chuckled and jerked his head towards the tree off to his left. Fall had begun to colour the leaves, but the abundant canopy and thick branches still spread a large shadow across the lawn beneath and within that shadow something moved. Rory. He saw him, then he did not see him, then he saw him again.

"Is he…?"

"He is trying awfully hard. Leliana has been teaching them, and, well, he is Aedan's son. He takes his lessons very seriously."

Alistair grinned at the humour in Luke's tone. He imagined he could see the concentration on the little boy's face as he held the shadow, released it, and held it again. He couldn't, but it was a familiar sight. "So he is not going to be a mighty warrior like his father then? He does move like Leliana," Alistair observed. For a small child Rory did move very gracefully and somewhat precisely.

"Who says he cannot be both?" Luke said.

"It is possible to be extremely talented in more than one skill, my friends. Take myself, for example."

Alistair started and cursed as he turned to see Zevran standing behind them, the same stealth Rory practiced falling away as he flaunted one of his various talents with the usual confidence.

Luke had not flinched. When Alistair caught his eye, he shrugged and said, "I'm used to it. He stalks me."

"I do not stalk, I attend," Zevran explained before dropping to the grass in a manner that appeared both graceful and not. He turned and regarded the small boy for a few moments, a fond smile playing about his mouth. "I do predict, however, you will have a stalker very soon, Luke. He will want to practice that next."

Alistair laughed at the thought of a four year old boy creeping about the palace behind everyone and shook his head in amazement. How did parents survive such children, how?

Turning his attention back to the pair of them, Zevran asked, "And where is the un-stealthy Cousland this afternoon? He asked me to meet him here today."

The king turned and let his gaze travel over the sandstone walls of the palace, up to the second story and along to the balcony that jutted from Aedan and Leliana's apartment. His eyes flicked to the next window over, where the curtains still appeared to be drawn. "Up there," he said, a grin pulling at his mouth again. "I'm not sure if we will see them before dinner."

Zevran rolled his eyes, but Alistair caught the hint of relief in that amber gaze, the same light that lit Luke's eyes, Brenna's and warmed his own. Whatever had come between Aedan and Leliana, they seemed to have worked it out. Luke had told him of the trip to Fort Drakon the evening before and he had listened with fear and trepidation as the young man related Aedan's tale, that of the ritual. He knew why Aedan had gone to the tower and he knew why he'd told Luke the story, _that_ story. Aedan had asked Leliana about the bottle, the stupid slip he'd made at the tavern. He'd known his friend had sensed the lie the minute it left his lips. A flare of surprise had crossed Aedan's face and the following questions had gently probed for the truth. What he did not know was why Leliana had kept the secret from her husband; the only thing that made sense was protecting him, as the King. Leliana held a brave heart and a loyal soul.

Dropping his gaze from the wall of the palace once more, Alistair let out a soft sigh, this one not so contented. He still had not found a suitable replacement for the role of chancellor. In his mind Leliana would hard to equal. Perhaps the man Teagan had 'sent' would be the one. He was due to arrive this evening and his description did not match any of the criteria anyone had set out for him. Lanford Ackerman was sixty five years old and a scholar. He had apparently taught the noble sons and daughters of many of Ferelden's prominent families while never accepting a permanent post. According to Teagan's letter, this movement was an important part of the man's philosophy and something he could ask about in person, when they met, because Lanford was on his way to Denerim anyway and they might as well chat. Ever the practical one, Teagan.

Alistair had actually taken quite a liking to Ser Travers, but had been warned off the man by Luke who apparently understood the knight's loyalty to Fergus and Highever better than he did. "Do not make him refuse his King, Alistair."

He'd been caught between amazement and amusement at Luke's words and tone. "I'm going to have to address that insolent tone of yours one day, Luke."

Chuckling, Luke answered, "So you say, all the time." His cheeks had coloured slightly though and he'd offered and abashed grin. "It's your fault, you know. You get all weird when I call you 'your Majesty'."

"It's Aedan's fault, actually," Alistair countered. "He has no reverence for my positions whatsoever." Really, he'd never seen a man so under awed in his company. Aedan sprawled on his couch, burped at his table and winked at his wife. Of course, Oghren openly leered and Zevran made suggestive comments. With a sigh, Alistair added, "I need to find some more genteel friends." He wouldn't though, he treasured the lack of formality amongst his former companions, craved it in fact.

"Mmhm," was all Luke replied.

"So," Zevran drawled, drawing him back to the present. "Shall I return for dinner, or do you think they will still be busy feasting upon the delights of…"

"Zev!" Luke interrupted and Alistair thanked the Maker for it, feeling the colour rise in his cheeks as he tried to divert his mind from both Aedan's appetites and Zevran's likely suggestions.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat. "Why don't you return for dinner, bring the Wardens. It has been a while since we all sat down to a meal together! I will have a guest of my own; he might as well meet all of us at once." And either adapt or run screaming from the dining room… Alistair grinned, his good mood spreading. He felt like celebrating – he had a child on the way, a possible chancellor at the gates, and Aedan and Leliana were behaving like Aedan and Leliana once more. All was right with Ferelden.

Luke was standing up and brushing off his pants. "I'll go tell the cook if you like."

Zevran cast a sly look upwards. "Has another kitchen maid caught your eye, my friend?"

"No," Luke retorted with a blush and a glare. "But they will want to know how much extra food to prepare, a lot of planning goes into these things. Your cook might get grumpy with you, Alistair, and serve bitter greens and stringy beef."

"Oh, the horror!" They all laughed at the idea of the palace cook ever serving anything less than her best, and Alistair chuckled over Luke's concern for his staff's well being. "I'll come with you, Luke," he said, standing up beside the young man. "Cook always enjoys a visit from his Majesty, and it's Thursday. She makes these little apple pastry things on Thursdays…"

* * *

"People who sit still fester, your Majesty. The word congeals around them like cooling gravy! Movement, advancement, forward thinking, these things I think you understand, yes? You're a young man and you've been relentlessly driving Ferelden out of the stagnant pool she wallowed in since we reclaimed the throne for ourselves."

Alistair glanced down at the gravy swimming about his plate. It had not congealed; in fact it shimmered enticingly over and about the decidedly _tender_ and thick slice of roasted beef. But all the talk of festering and stagnating stayed his fork for the moment. Looking up at the bald man sitting at his side, he studied the scholar, who, despite his advanced years could only be described as sprightly. Like an elf. But for the lack of pointed ears, Lanford Ackerman could be one of the Dalish with his short stature and lithe frame. He had long, pointed fingers and gripped his cutlery with the same energy that sparkled in his bright, blue eyes. The rest of his face also evoked the word 'pointed', his nose somewhat of a narrow, beak like protrusion, at odds with the rest of his small, sharp features. His chin ended in a goatee that narrowed to yet another point and the ends of his moustache stuck straight out from either side of his face, pointing at his neighbours, which at the moment included him on one side and a very amused looking Aedan on the other.

"And that is what prompts you to keep moving, Lanford?"

"Aye. Can't have the mud sucking at my heels. There is always another young mind to explore and news to share."

A loud belch sounded from further down the table and Oghren leaned back in his chair and rubbed his belly in appreciation. "Ah, yeah," he said, his tone almost… sexual, before he leaned forward to claim his mug. "It's a good spread Alistair; Cook has outdone herself with this one."

Lanford, completely unperturbed by dining with a dwarf, an elf and a crowd of miscreants, more commonly known as Wardens, barely glanced up from his plate before continuing to expound his theories. Stabbing at his slice of beef, he said, "It's like this beef," and he nodded towards Oghren as if to acknowledge both the burp and the comment, "If a cow stands still for too long it gets fat and does not develop enough of this succulent musculature," _succulent musculature_? Alistair looked at his plate and despite the enticement of the gravy felt his gut clench slightly, "yet if it roams too far, it will become lean and extenuated," _extenuated_? What did that mean! "unsuitable for the table." Stringy, perhaps?

The precisely cut morsel of beef made its way between the pointed goatee and pointed moustache and Lanford remained blissfully silent as he chewed with a somewhat pensive expression. Alistair glanced at Aedan and had to look away instantly. Aedan's shoulders shook with repressed laughter and, next to him, Zevran's eyes sparkled with ill concealed mirth. Further down the table Luke chatted amiably with Anders and Nathaniel, and the rest of Wardens talked amongst themselves, except for Marin who seemed to be staring at… the queen? Alistair turned to look at his wife and smiled in appreciation of her loveliness. High colour painted her cheeks and she'd swept her hair back into a loose arrangement of… hair. Braided and curled bits and pieces that looked as if she'd worked all afternoon on them. She and Leliana had heads bent together, but Leliana's attention was divided, her eyes were fastened across the table, on Aedan, and a glance at his brother confirmed that Aedan also looked at Leliana and they had that expression on their faces. Thedas had dropped away for the time being.

Swallowing, Lanford straightened and glanced to his left. "Aedan," he stated in the sort of voice only scholars and tutors employed. He did not call the tall warrior any of his varied titles, but instead addressed him by name, a mannerism that had Alistair both surprised and amused all over again.

Snapping his attention back to his side of the table, Aedan regarded the small man with a recalcitrant look.

"You seem to have done well for yourself, defeating a Blight and putting a man on the throne and all that. You were ever the restless one though, weren't you?" Turning to Alistair, Lanford continued, once again requiring no reply whatsoever from his companions. "This boy," yes, he'd referred to a near thirty year old man as a boy, "could never sit still. Smart enough, but only interested in two things. Fancy swords and pretty women." A warm smile spread across the thin mouth. "And I see you managed to capture both." A glance over at Leliana. "Well done, well done. So, tell your Majesty here what you learned in the two years I visited Castle Cousland."

"Time waits for no man," Aedan quoted without delay and Lanford nodded swiftly, the ends of his moustache wavering with the movement.

"Good lad, good lad." Turning back to Alistair, Lanford blotted his face delicately with his serviette and said, "So, what do you think? Shall we try this out for a couple of years and see where we go?" His blue eyes took on a somewhat wicked gleam. "If we step fast enough, the rest of Thedas may never catch up and I might just find myself standing still for longer than I have before."

Alistair shook his head in wonder, thoroughly confused and completely smitten. Who was this man and where had he been for the last six years? Spreading his energy about Ferelden, obviously. Though the small, pointed man talked entirely too much and used words that had him wishing he had a dictionary in his pocket, Alistair couldn't help liking Lanford. Teagan had been correct in assuming he'd appreciate the scholar's outlook. What he valued most, however, was the man's ease at this table, at this unlikely collection of friends and guests. The scholar had taken everyone's hand and tendered as polite a greeting to all. His enthusiasm for the new and his lack of fear regarding change immediately endeared him to the young King. He would miss Leliana's unique abilities and talents, but had no doubt he could continue to solicit her advice on occasion. Zevran would be spending more time in Denerim and never minded adding a little subterfuge to his schedule should he require any specialized 'information' or interpretation. And he had a feeling Lanford would terrify his other advisors and put them firmly in their place.

Holding out his hand, Alistair smiled and said, "Welcome to Denerim, Chancellor."

* * *

Maker's breath, but Lanford could talk. Alistair felt stunned by the amount of information battering at his ear drums and he'd run out of excuses to quiet the man. His new chancellor had talked his way through several snacks, cups of tea and even a brisk walk about the palace during which he had extolled the virtues of exercise and asked when they might visit the Fort. Apparently the scholar wielded a pair of silverite daggers, described in exquisite detail for his listening pleasure (torture), and liked to maintain his form.

"Tomorrow," he answered quietly, unfamiliar with the sound of his own voice and not sure he could handle an entire afternoon in the company of Lanford. "Ah, if you will excuse me, Lanford, I, er, fear I have a bit of a headache. It's been quite the morning!"

Lanford surprised him with a sharp cackle that might have been laughter. "You'll get used to me, your Majesty. Just you wait."

With a weak smile and a nod, Alistair fled his own study and sought the privacy of his rooms. Maids were cleaning it and rather than dismiss them until later, he decided to leave the palace altogether for another walk, to somewhere peaceful and quiet. He found himself, oddly, though perhaps not, at the chantry. The guard he'd accumulated on his way out of the palace, men who appeared out of shadows and nooks and clung to him as if expecting him to run at any moment – to get drunk and smite more cutpurses, no doubt – waited outside and Alistair breathed deeply as the ever present attendance of others dropped away and the quiet of the cool, dark chantry opened before him. He had a feeling he'd become intimately reacquainted with the Maker over the next few weeks.

A shuffle of small feet soon interrupted his quiet and Alistair looked up to find a procession of children entering the solemn building and lining up before the altar before settling on the floor. At the back of the group he spied Brenna, Leliana, Rory and Grace. They had a third child with them, the little brown haired, brown eyed boy, Henric. He looked to be about Rory's age and the two boys sat quietly together as if they knew each other well. Grace shuffled backwards until she sat in Leliana's lap and Alistair crept forwards to tap his wife on the shoulder. Brenna turned and her face lit in the sort of smile that had him catching his breath and grinning happily in return. He opened his mouth, but Brenna put a finger to his lips and patted the smooth stone floor beside him. Like one of the silent and obedient orphans, he sat.

Mother Perpetua cleared her throat and began her story. She had an interesting voice, one that almost commanded the listener rather than invited. She told the story of Andraste, the first part, anyway and Alistair felt it appropriate to all who sat in her audience. An escaped slave, one of humble origins, who, regardless of rising to great heights, never forgot her origin or source of inspiration. She remained steadfast to her purpose and true to her heart. While Alistair held little love for the chantry, the story of Andraste herself always spoke to him and he could see it resonate in the faces of the orphans arrayed about him. They could do great things too, they of humble beginnings.

Though it had not been the moments of quiet contemplation he looked for, Alistair enjoyed his visit to the chantry and he spent time with the boys afterwards, enjoying their company as he picked similar pairs from a series of downturned cards. After flipping two cards, they were turned down again and the next player took a turn and either flipped another two or sought a match from memory. Rory chatted happily to both he and Henric during the game and Henric remained engaged but utterly silent. His intelligence was obvious, however, as he unerringly picked up every revealed match as it came about, rarely wasting his turn flipping extraneous cards. Looking up, Alistair caught Brenna's eye and she glanced at Henric. He nodded and smiled. He knew her thoughts and while he agreed with them, he had had another – Henric's silence was utterly blissful.

* * *

Lanford talked as he sparred. Of course he did. The man probably talked in his sleep. Alistair found him an engaging partner, however, with a style quite unlike anyone he had fought before. His daggers were not as fast as Zevran's and the small man did not quite match Aedan and Luke's strength, but he had agility and used his blades in unexpected ways. Not to mention his constant stream of conversation could be rather distracting. Alistair amused himself with the idea Lanford might attempt to chat with the darkspawn as he opened up their armour with that odd up and down flick of his main hand weapon. Had he asked the Orlesians about the weather or compared strategy with them when he fought with the rebel forces? Likely he had.

After bowing to his partner at the end of the match, Alistair engaged Aedan while Lanford turned his attention upon Luke. Maker forgive me, Alistair whispered silently as he saw the gleam of interest enter the scholar's eye.

"Luke Cousland, eh?" They had only met briefly at the large dinner a week before. "Well, let's just see how you compare to that father of yours. He's a quick one, never stands still. Do you stand still, Luke? What do you know about the situation in…" and so it went.

Luke seemed to cope well with the scholar and Alistair supposed the young Warden had had the benefit of many people talking at him in varying fashions over the years. Luke could be talkative himself, though he seemed to share Aedan's reticence towards gossip and idle chit chat. Watching the pair, Alistair wondered if Luke and his friend, Peers, might not enjoy some lessons with Lanford. They both seemed keen to continue their education and it would be a few, maybe several, hours a day where his own ears could hum in silence.

That Leliana and Lanford got on well came as little surprise. The minstrel could charm even the irascible Bann Esmerelle on occasion. His former and current chancellor had met with him together over the previous week in order to exchange views and news and methodology. Lanford proved well informed regarding current politics and they'd hardly needed to add to his knowledge at all. In fact, he seemed imminently suited to his new position. The relief in Leliana's face had been palpable.

A flash of steel caught his eye and Alistair lifted his shield out of instinct, only just deflecting Aedan's strike.

"You there?" Aedan called.

"I am here," he replied and pushed his shield forward in an attempt to unbalance his fellow warrior.

Aedan had regained his strength and something else. Verve, his enthusiasm for life. It pleased the king greatly to see the shadows banished from his brother's eyes and the hesitancy gone from his manner. He did not know what had caused the change, he only hoped it stuck. Aedan would have difficult days as Teyrn, of that he had no doubt. Gwaren was a somewhat remote corner of Ferelden, though not so distant as Haven, and had an almost clannish aspect. He looked forward to having a proper friend to the south.

Springing back, away from his shield pummel, Aedan swept his sword low, taping his legs and Alistair acknowledged the strike before countering with his own sword, or attempting to. He met a dagger. Aedan ducked and spun, a move both he and Luke favoured, and Alistair turned with him, keeping the back of his knees away from the expected sting of his crippling strike. Aedan grinned and spun the other way, back on himself, attempting to catch him. Alistair threw his shield forward and caught him across the shoulder. Rolling away from the strike, Aedan regained his feet and barely paused for breath before stepping in again, blades sweeping together and apart. Alistair brought his shield back to the middle, but missed the second blade. And so it went, strike for strike, point for point, just as in the past, the two warriors knowing each other so well.

They took a break and Alistair leaned gratefully back against the wall behind the bench. Oghren sat heavily next to him, panting softly.

"Send the elf back to Amaranthine, your Majesty, he makes me look bad," the dwarf complained.

Zevran sauntered towards them, sheathing his blades. He looked as if he'd not just taunted and toyed with Oghren for the last half hour, dodging swipes of the massive hammer the Commander currently favoured. Sitting on the other side of Aedan, the elf nodded towards Luke and Lanford. The odd pair had stopped sparring altogether and were having a spirited discussion. Young Peers had joined them and was nodding vigorously here and there. The three of them looked as if they were long lost friends.

Aedan chuckled. "Has Lanford started talking in your dreams yet, Alistair?"

Alistair shuddered and shook his head.

Runir sidled up to Zevran and lifted his chin in what Alistair supposed was a Crow look, or an Antivan assassin sign or some such, and the elf rose from the bench with a nod. The pair moved off to a corner and began sparring. Watching pair always proved entertaining and Alistair found himself absorbed in the match. Daggers spun and blurred, as did legs and at times, bodies. They were both masters of stealth and reserved such tricks for one another, putting on a display quite unlike any other. Alistair found that if he concentrated on the spot where he thought one of them might appear, he'd catch a flash armour or blade, but never quickly enough to anticipate the strike, which was what the rogues counted on.

Leaning towards Aedan, he murmured, "I bet Riordan will give Zevran a good match in time, your strength, Leliana's lightness of movement." Receiving no response, he looked at his friend and noticed Aedan's eyes were not on the match. Aedan was watching Marin and when Alistair turned to see what Marin looked at, the Orlesian Warden was watching Leliana, who had just arrived at the Fort with Brenna and the children. Alistair caught his breath. Marin had been watching Leliana at dinner the week before then, not his wife. The bench shifted as Aedan stood up and Alistair watched with trepidation as his brother walked not towards the Warden, but to his wife. He let out a breath as Aedan bent to kiss Brenna's cheek before catching Leliana about the waist with one arm and pulling her to his side in a display of affection and possession. He kissed her cheek as well, but lingered there, his lips moving, obviously whispering something in her ear. Letting her go, he bent to attend his children and Leliana turned to regard Marin. The Warden dropped his head forward and retreated into the Fort.

"You'd think he'd know better than to look at the wife of the Hero of Ferelden. Man killed a sodding archdemon, by the stone." Turning to look at him, Oghren asked, "You think he's behind all this business?"

"Business?" Alistair repeated.

"Between the Warden and the Bard. He was in Orlais with 'em and Aedan had some fever, mind you I never believed _that_ story, and he's a sly one that Marin, of course, he'd have to be, hanging out with Runir and Zevran all the time. What's the elf said?"

Alistair blinked at the dwarf. Oghren truly surprised him sometimes. "Ah…"

"Nothin' then. Hm." Oghren scratched his beard, or maybe his chin, or something beneath the tufted red hair that fell from his face. "Well, if he knows what's good for him, he'll keep it where it belongs."

And women thought men didn't gossip…

Nodding towards Oghren, Alistair kept his thoughts to himself. Did Marin have something to do with the 'business' as Oghren put it? No, Aedan would have mentioned it when they were out drinking; he'd talked about Leliana at length. Letting out a sigh, he stood and went to greet his wife.

* * *

When Alistair found himself hiding in the chantry for the third time that week, he sat heavily in one of the wooden benches and dropped his head into his hands with a sigh. He needed to talk to Lanford. Not that his new chancellor minded him talking, in fact he encouraged it.

"You've not spoken for at least half an hour, your Majesty. Shall I assume you agree with these points here?" The long, pointed fingers tapped at the top half of a treaty they'd been discussing.

"I think you have it covered, Lanford."

He missed Leliana, he couldn't help it. She spoke softly and slowly and they'd worked together so long they sometimes would both look up from a contract and nod at the same time and know which point needed addressing. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes.

"Another headache, your Majesty? Perhaps I should send for that young mage, Nicholas? Now he's an interesting fellow. Did I tell you I knew his father? We fought in the war together…"

_Maker, help me…_

Lanford's wit was incredibly sharp, however, and his views were radical and exciting. Instead of blanching over Alistair's notes regarding chantry reform, the sprightly old man literally bounced in his seat and said, "Yes, yes! I must tell you my theories on services mages might perform if they were free of the strictures of the chantry!"

And he had, and Alistair, to his chancellor's obvious delight, spoke in return. Freeing the templars from the addictive nature of Lyrium and loosening the hold of the chantry on the tower were amongst his chief concerns and having a man of Lanford's generation embrace his ideas did much to make up for the nagging headache that plagued him every afternoon.

They'd adjust. Lanford would slow down and he would speed up and they'd meet somewhere in the middle.

The silence of the chantry seemed to echo softly in his bruised ears and he raised his head to find that what he'd heard was actually footsteps. Henric appeared next to him and stood there, completely still, regarding him with solemn eyes. If Alistair could read his thoughts he'd suppose the boy asked, 'What's wrong?'

Patting the wooden bench next to him, Alistair silently invited the orphan to sit. Henric did so. Then from his pocket he pulled out a rough square of parchment and, unfurling it, handed it across. Depicted with some skill was a woman with long, black hair, red lips and green eyes. She had something that resembled a dress scribbled across her body and she held a sword in one hand. Behind her shone a bright, yellow sun.

"Would you like me to give this to the queen?"

A soft nod.

"It's a very good drawing, it will make her smile." It would and it made Alistair smile to think of giving it to her.

Henric's eyes lit up and a ghost of a smile hovered about his solemn mouth.

"I liked to draw when I was a boy, but I lived somewhere between a kitchen and a stable and mostly had to settle for charcoal on the side of the hearth. Have you many drawings?"

A nod.

"Would you like to show them to me?"

The small boy gave him a look so much like one of Rory's that Alistair found himself smiling. A careful nod followed and Henric stood and waited for him to stand up also. The sisters greeted him with a small measure of surprise as the orphan led him to the adjoining orphanage and into one of the two sleeping halls. Glancing up and down the narrow chamber, Alistair took in the rows of bunks, all neatly made, and the variety of small chests and trunks that stood at the ends and sides of the beds. It was a nice orphanage, so far as they went, but it could be nicer…

He spent a blissfully quiet hour with the boy and found that after a few minutes, he stopped talking altogether. He would point to something or Henric would point to something and they'd either agree or not. The boy had a lot of drawings tucked away in his trunk and after he showed them all off, he gestured towards some blocks and they built a tower together.

A soft tap on his shoulder caught his attention and Alistair looked up to find Brenna smiling down at him.

"Hello, love," he said, almost startled by the sound of his voice after the peace of the last hour.

Brenna sat beside him and Henric's face transformed. She held out her arms. Alistair felt a sharp tug in his chest and turned his attention towards the blocks as he marshaled his thoughts. As he lined them up, he listened to Brenna talking softly to the boy in her lap. He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh.

"Is something wrong, Alistair?"

Turning to look at his wife, Alistair nodded, solemnly. "Yes."

"What is it?"

"I need a new chancellor," he said quietly.

Her green eyes widened. "Oh, Alistair, is Lanford not working out for you?"

"He is. The man never stops talking, but everything he says is worth listening to, I'm sure. He's an interesting and exciting man."

Brenna smiled. "Then what's the problem?"

"I need someone who can listen too. A quiet person, one doesn't necessarily communicate with words."

Brows drawing down, Brenna nodded thoughtfully. "Well, maybe one of your advisors could step into that role?" She gave him a quizzical look. "I will always listen, if you need me to, you know that."

Smiling, Alistair leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "I know. But I have someone else in mind."

"You do? Oh, who is it?"

Turning to Henric, who had been following their conversation with a curious expression, Alistair said softly, "How about it, Henric? Will you be my quiet chancellor?"

A soft gasp came from Brenna and Alistair turned to find her looking at him in something like shock. "Alistair," she began, her tone admonishing.

"Let's take him home, Brenna." He looked at her still flat belly. "He or she will need a brother and I'm sure we could use the practice."

"He's not a toy, Alistair."

"I know, love, he's a boy and he needs a mother." He pulled out the drawing he had tucked in his pocket and unfolded it. "And I think he picked you."

Brenna took the drawing with trembling fingers and began sniffling softly before reaching for her handkerchief. Alistair took the opportunity to extend a hand towards Henric.

"So what do you think? Do you want the job?"

Henric studied him for a moment, then slid a small hand in to his and nodded carefully. Alistair smiled and Henric smiled in return. He had no doubt Henric would begin to talk when he was ready, but in the meantime, the quiet little boy would be a blessing in more ways than one.


	19. Mushroom Soup and Leviathans

Mushroom Soup and Leviathans

Fergus looked down at the burgundy shirt he wore and frowned. He liked the colour, but it felt too vibrant in the low light of his bedroom, as if it had absorbed all the light of the lamps and the sheen of the quilt thrown across the broad bed behind him. His skin, normally lightly tanned by the end of summer, looked pale against the deep red and his hair looked almost black. Studying his reflection, the teyrn decided he just did not look like himself. Lucy had not seen him with a clean face, brushed hair and carefully pressed shirt, not up close. Would it be foolish to think she might prefer the rougher copy? Would it be foolish to think she might not recognise him? Would it be foolish to think these thoughts at all?

With a soft growl, Fergus began unbuttoning the shirt and casting it across the bedspread it matched so well, he picked up another. This would be the fourth change he had made. As fingers deftly buttoned the deep blue linen, he risked a quick glance in the mirror, fearing the dark colour might look worse than the burgundy. Maybe the green had been the better choice, or… what had he been wearing that day? Blue. Would it be odd to wear blue again? Dragging his fingers through his hair, Fergus left off the task of buttoning and sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

Maker's breath, it was worse the second time around. The anticipation, the knot of worry in his gut, the nervous twitch to his fingers, all of it felt amplified by the years between his first experience with infatuation and this last. How would this work, exactly? Could he court this woman as he had Oriana? Take her places, visit her home, walk with her, read to her, steal kisses until they decided between fortune and folly? A thousand other questions taunted and teased and Fergus gripped the bedcovers, closed his eyes and blew out a breath. He had to calm down. While not as cheeky as Aedan, he had never been awkward around women in the past. Why such fears gripped him now, he could not say. Sitting there, he recalled a conversation he'd had with Leliana, not a month before.

He had been reading in the library, actually, he'd been sleeping in the library, a book open across his lap, head tipped back and probably snoring. Leliana did not make sound if she did not want to be heard, and so he supposed she must have wanted to be heard. Heels scraped the floor and a throat cleared and he opened his eyes and shut his mouth. As he lifted his head, Leliana dropped gracefully into the chair opposite, leaned back and crossed one slender ankle over the other.

"These chairs are quite comfortable, Fergus. Do you think they were designed specifically with napping in mind?"

"It is quite possible, Leliana. Many have succumbed to their charms."

She grinned and leaned back, settling herself more deeply into the upholstery, and closed her eyes. Fergus watched her curiously, one brow quirked, one corner of his mouth pulled upwards as he wondered if she might actually attempt a nap, after having woken him from one. She did not. After a moment, she lifted her head and winked at him. Fergus chuckled in return.

"What are you up to this afternoon?" he asked her.

"Interrupting naps, naturally. I disturbed Aedan, and now I am here."

Fergus laughed. He could guess in exactly which why she had disturbed Aedan and supposed his brother would be sleeping off her attentions for a while yet. A glance at the small, high windows lining the rear wall confirmed his assumption that Rory and Grace were likely napping also. Snatches of sleep in the middle of a quiet afternoon were often the most restorative sort. But as Fergus felt refreshed by the minutes he had managed before Leliana's entrance, he indulged her with a warm smile.

"Well, would you like to talk about something?"

"I always like to talk about something, Fergus," she teased lightly and he felt himself grinning all the wider. It was not hard to see why his brother adored her so. Aedan had always had an eye for beautiful women, but Leliana had something else besides, the will to challenge and intrigue.

"And which particular something did you have in mind?" he asked, knowing she already had already chosen a subject and happy to play her game.

"Do you entertain when we are not here, Fergus? Do you have many guests to the castle?"

Scratching his head, the teyrn first tried to plot out why she had asked this particular question, then prepared his answer. "On occasion, yes. I played host to Bann Dalton over the summer, he and his wife stopped here on their way to Denerim." They had been pleasant guests. He'd befriended the Bann of Rainesfere two years ago at the Landsmeet and now the man and his wife always called in on their travels, as he had to them when visiting Redcliffe. "I usually have feasts during the festivals also, for the knights who have no kin in Highever. Kyle stays frequently." Here, Fergus laughed. "I couldn't very well turn him out that drunk." As he paused to consider the other guests he'd had, he looked up at Leliana and added somewhat ruefully, "My brother does not stay as often as I'd like." Is that what she had been hinting at?

Leliana expression cleared and he realised that was not what she'd been hinting at as she replied, "And that will change. He loves it here, Fergus. He is himself here, truly."

"I am glad to hear it." Leaning back in his chair, Fergus regarded his brother's wife quietly for a moment before asking, "What sort of guests do you think I should be entertaining?" And as soon as the words left his lips, he understood the nature of her question.

She smiled, reading the knowledge in his eyes, and Fergus shook his head and clucked softly at her. "Ah, Leli." Sobering, he resisted the urge to scratch the nagging but phantom itch on his scalp once more, aware it would be interpreted for exactly what it was: a nervous gesture. She meant female guests of course, they'd had this conversation before, nearly three years before, at Alistair's wedding. "More than one woman has spent the night in Castle Cousland over the past three years, dear sister," he said with his closest approximation of a cheeky grin. Aedan did it better of course, but Fergus knew he was not without charm.

"But did they share your bed or shiver alone?"

Fergus laughed again, unable to take offense at her words as his mind conjured images of women shivering alone in the various bedrooms of the castle. "I'll have you know we make sure none of our guests shiver. As for their choice of rooms…" he trailed off, a bemused smile now settling across his mouth. "Perhaps one has shared my bed." But not at Highever…

Leliana narrowed her eyes at him, holding his gaze as if to catch him out in a lie. When he did not flinch she instantly brightened. "I am pleased to hear it!" If only everyone were as easy to please as his sister in law. She had a smile that lit a room and lifted the spirits of all within. "Will you tell me about her, or… them?" Her eyes sparkled.

"I am a gentleman, Leliana; I do not kiss and tell!"

Clapping her hands together in delight, Leliana kicked up her heels and rocked back in her chair. Fergus chuckled at her antics. It was her turn to sober then, and she did, the large blue eyes taking on a pensive, yet caring aspect. "But you have not found love yet," she stated quietly.

Fergus let out a breath and shook his head, the old grief encircling his heart and pulling down at the edges of his mouth. After Alistair's wedding, and his previous talk with Leliana, Fergus had taken a woman to his bed while staying in Denerim. While he found the physical release satisfying, waking up to a strange face had been disconcerting. He had seen the woman afterwards, on subsequent visits to the city and she had even shared his bed once more. But after the second time they had decided to simply remain friends. As a widow herself, she did not have a reputation at stake, but neither did she have the desire to be a wife or a mistress. And for his part, Fergus had felt at odds being intimate without love. Since then he had slept alone.

The touch of a cool hand on his returned him to the library. "Do not wait for too long, Fergus. You should not be alone, you have much to give and share."

He had found a smile for her and nodded to her words, acknowledging and accepting them.

Now, looking across to the mirror standing to the side of the chest where he kept his clothes, Fergus took in his reflection, the dark hair that swept across his forehead and over his ears to brush the back of his neck, the dark eyes that resembled his mother's and the same straight nose he teased Aedan for, though on his fuller face it did not appear quite so long and his had not been broken twice. Clasping the bridge of his nose with his fingers, Fergus rubbed the narrow bone gently and let out a sigh. He clasped his family to his chest and held them close and thought over Leliana's words. He wished his sister in law were here now, she would have much advice to give. In the very least he could tell her, "I am not waiting any longer."

Standing up, he discarded the blue shirt and reached for the green he'd started with half an hour before. The colour of Highever, the colour of his eyes when they caught the light, the colour of the forests that surrounded the castle. Not the colour of a teyrn.

Hugh, his other guest and 'chaperone', slipped through the door of his study a few moments after he'd arrived and said, "Will we set a signal?"

"A signal?"

"For when you want me to take Bart on a tour of the castle, show him the armory, lose him in the storerooms."

Caught between shock and laughter, Fergus scratched his hair before dropping his hand and shaking his head in wonder. "Ah… I am not sure it would be polite to…"

Hugh held up a hand. "Do you really think a twelve year old boy wants to have dinner with his mother and the Teryn?"

"Probably not."

"So I'll be doing everyone a favour then, right? Bart will be interested in the armory, by the way, so no worries there!"

"Don't lose him in the dungeons, Hugh."

"Not for too long, anyway. We'll see what sort of adventures we can come up with," Hugh replied with a wink.

A servant appeared at the open door and informed them that the guests had arrived.

"Shall I escort them to the dining room, my lord?"

"No." He wanted to welcome Lucy to his home properly. "We'll come down."

The teyrn and knight walked side by side to the courtyard set just inside the large, wooden doors to the castle proper and Fergus worked to keep his nerves calm, ease the clench of his gut and the itch of his palms, wriggling his fingers as he walked. Hugh remained stoically silent. They rounded the corner and Fergus' nerves fled. Someone he knew stood in the courtyard, he realised the minute he saw her. A woman he liked and admired, a friend. Stepping forward with a smile, he returned Bart's salute with a bow of his own and looked towards Lucy.

"Good evening," he said, wondering if the greeting sounded entirely too banal. Instead of a disheveled tunic and leggings, Lucy wore a simple dress in a colour that closely matched her hazel eyes, somewhere between a soft burnt orange and chestnut. The colour looked good on her and added warmth to her cheeks and highlighted her hair, or so he thought. Two simple wooden combs held somewhat tame curls away from her face. She looked, to his mind, very lovely and he wanted to tell her so, but held his tongue, wondering if the comment might seem inappropriate in front of her son.

"My lord," she returned politely, the warmth of her expression underlined her formality, however, putting them both at ease, as if she was noble blood and he the guest. She turned towards her son, a youth with dark eyes and a mop of thick, brown hair, who looked as if he'd recently put on a couple of inches in height and was unused to seeing things from his new perspective. He had a friendly face, Fergus decided, and a naturally curious glint to his eyes. Putting her hand on his shoulder, Lucy introduced him. "This is my son, Bartholomew."

Extending his hand towards the boy, Fergus said, "Welcome to my home, Bartholomew."

After only the smallest hesitation, Bartholomew took his hand in a firm grip and bowed his head again. "Thank you, my lord," he said quietly.

"If I ask you to call me Fergus, will you let me call you Bart?" he asked solemnly before adding with a grin, "Bartholomew, while quite the distinguished name, will twist around my tongue and come out wrong more than once, I am sure. This will save me future embarrassment."

He saw the telltale tug at the boy's mouth as he answered, "Alright."

Fergus turned to Hugh. "And you both know Hugh, so there we are. Shall we go see what's for dinner?"

He led the way to the family dining room rather than the larger, more formal one. Fergus took most of his meals in the smaller room and preferred it to the cavernous space on the other side of the hall. This room was set into the base of a corner tower and had an almost circular shape. The outer wall had two small, high windows that let in sunlight during the day and offered a view of the stars at night. An inner wall hosted a small hearth and a low buffet lined the wall opposite. Set in the middle was a round table which could seat up to six comfortably and would allow the four of them to lounge in their chairs with plenty of elbow room. Fergus gestured Lucy to his left, waiting behind her chair to pull it out and seat and seat her in a gentlemanly fashion. Hugh sat to his right and Bart opposite.

Had he been entertaining only adults, he might have offered drinks and small talk first, but being somewhat familiar with the appetites of growing children, Fergus had opted to have dinner served first, hoping the food would set a congenial atmosphere. It did, not that Nan's cooking ever failed to produce cheer. Fergus had ever been grateful that the cook had survived Howe's treachery. He liked to tell her he'd be lost without her cooking, but honestly, he loved the matronly woman and had been overjoyed to find her alive and well in the village. She knew that. Nan knew her boys, as she called them, loved her for more than her apple pie.

The first course was mushroom soup. Lucy blinked at the bowl before looking up at Fergus.

"Is this…"

"Mushroom soup, yes."

Puzzlement swept across her face as she opted between being polite and amused. Amusement won out and she adopted a lightly chiding tone as she said, "I seem to recall the promise of a dinner with no mushrooms."

"You are quite correct," Fergus said, trying to keep a straight face. "You have my apologies, Lucy; you will have to simply accept a second invitation."

Lucy chuckled softly and dipped her spoon into the soup. "I will admit I am quite partial to mushroom soup."

Would it be silly to admit it was his favourite? Fergus smiled and nodded and attended to his own bowl, satisfied with his ploy. When he caught Hugh's eye, the knight winked broadly at him before turning his attention to Bart.

"Have you any interest in swords, Bart?"

Not yet, they'd not even finished the meal! Fergus darted a glance at the knight, but Hugh refused to meet his eye.

"Yes, Ser," Bart answered politely. "I have some little training with a dagger m'self, but I prefer a bow?"

Realising Hugh had merely started the conversation in the right direction Fergus relaxed and added his voice. "My mother was quite handy with a bow, Bart. She often provided for the family table."

Bart grinned. "As does mine."

They all smiled at Lucy and she seemed to shrink slightly beneath the attention of three men. "Oh, well, I'm fairly hopeless with a bow," she admitted. "I can swing a sword though!" This caused the rest of the table to start laughing as Bart and Hugh perhaps echoed Fergus' mental image of Lucy beheading rabbits and other small forest creatures with her sword. "Er," she said, cheeks reddening, "I use traps." She chuckled then, bending her head forward, and Fergus took the opportunity to admire the blush on the curve of her cheek.

The main course consisted of poached salmon with buttered potatoes and steamed greens. Simple fare, but the flavour of the fish spoke for itself, fresh caught and lightly sprinkled with salt and dill.

Gesturing the fish, Fergus addressed Bart. "How was your first extended trip out on your grandfather's boat, Bart?"

"Fantastic!" the boy answered enthusiastically. "We had fair weather the whole outing, which is odd this time of year; they said it was beginner's luck, me being on the boat and all. We could see the rain along the shore, though. And the fish were many and we filled the hold a day early, which is always a good thing, and we saw whales way out deep and the moon looked as if it might sit on the ocean one night and," he finally paused for breath, "that night? We saw the leviathan!"

"Oh, Bart!" Lucy said.

Glancing at Hugh and seeing the knight's grin echoed his own, Fergus urged the boy on. "Has your grandfather ever seen it before?"

"No! We think it was part of the beginner's luck thing!"

Nodding, Fergus finished his mouthful before leaning forward and offering in a confidential tone, "I've seen it too."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lucy giving him a sharp look and he turned to give her his most innocent smile. "Have you seen it, Lucy?"

"I have not, Fergus," she said tartly, her tone clearly indicating she did not believe he had either.

Leaning back in his chair, Fergus reached for his wine and took a slow and careful sip. He held the pewter goblet in his fingers as he began his tale. "My brother, Aedan," Bart nodded, everyone in Ferelden knew who Aedan was, "was about ten and I was eighteen when we saw the creature. We were out like you, fishing the Waking Sea. Jacob took us out, do you know Jacob?"

Bart nodded again. Everyone in Highever knew who Jacob was. Every town along the coast had an old man of the sea and in Highever his name was Jacob Grey. Seventy something years old and bent by the wind and the waves, the elderly fisherman still took his boat out on occasion with the help of his many grandchildren.

"Jacob took us out for two days and that night, the moon seemed to float above the ocean, big and full. The light was so bright it almost hurt the eyes and it lit the water for miles about. Jacob told us the moon only set like that twice a year, once in the spring and once in the autumn, and that if we were lucky we'd see the leviathan. I laughed, thinking, at eighteen, that he told us the tale of a fishwife." Fergus remembered the confusion on Aedan's face as he'd laughed. Aedan always wanted to do what his older brother did, but he also wanted to believe that the leviathan existed and that they would see it, and the ten year old boy had been torn between ridicule and curiosity. Feeling immediately guilty and realising his reaction had been somewhat rude, Fergus immediately sobered and nodded towards Jacob who took no offense and seemed to be regarding him with a knowing look in those sea foam coloured eyes.

To Bart, Fergus said, "But Aedan believed we would see it and I did not want to spoil the fun for my brother and so I decided to believe we would too."

Fergus took another sip from his goblet, knowing his audience waited and enjoying the pregnant pause. This is how Leliana must feel, he mused, gaining a new appreciation for the minstrel's craft. Just as he sensed questions were about to trip from three mouths, he continued. "We watched the moon rise from the ocean, and then we saw it, not once, but twice. At first I thought we'd seen a whale," and he'd held his tongue, not willing to dispel the wonder in Aedan's face, and then… "and then we saw it again, long, sinuous and scaled with fins all along the spine. Too long to be a whale, and narrow and undulating through the water…" his voice trailed off as he remembered the sight.

As a man of rational thought, Fergus had spent many nights trying to explain what he had seen. In the end he accepted the explanation of his ten year old brother. "Some things just are, Fergus." He wondered if Aedan still believed that, if the man who sought to order his life with charts and maps still believed that some things existed along the edge of reason.

Bart was nodding his head up and down. "Yes, that was exactly it!" Turning to his mother, he gave her a brilliant smile. "Do you believe me now, mum? Even Fergus has seen it!"

Lucy looked from man to boy, her eyes resting for a moment on each as if urging them to give up some plan they had plotted out in advance and then she smiled. "Well, I could hardly doubt the word of a teyrn, could I?"

Bart grinned and attacked his food with renewed enthusiasm and Fergus leaned forward to do the same. Feeling the weight of Hugh's eyes, he glanced up and caught an interesting look from his knight. The rogue almost looked as Aedan had all those years ago, caught between a desire to admire or believe, as if Fergus might have told the best tall tale ever and gotten away with it, or had just maybe really seen the softly rumoured leviathan. Fergus turned back to his plate with a smile.

After dinner, Bart took Hugh up on his offer to tour the armory and Fergus invited Lucy to join him in the small adjoining sitting room. Again Fergus chose to entertain his guests in the sitting room he kept for family use rather than the more formal parlor reserved for dignitaries and formal parties. The square room featured the same high, small windows as the dining room – none of the castle's rooms had terribly large windows, they had not been practical at the time the castle had been built. The sitting room had a much larger hearth and a small collection of comfortable furniture: two plush couches faced one another and at the end, two overstuffed chairs with a table in between. A low bookcase lined the wall beneath the windows and a bureau hugged the wall opposite the hearth. Set atop the polished wood surface stood a few bottles of liqueur and several glasses.

Gesturing the bottles, Fergus asked what she would like.

"Water if you have it," she answered and he complied before pouring a small measure of whiskey for himself.

"So, Fergus, about this leviathan," she started and he laughed.

"And here I thought you'd be asking me about the mushroom soup first."

Lucy chuckled and dropped her gaze. "No," she answered quietly. Looking up, she said, "I was happy to have an excuse to come back for another visit."

As he was already smiling quite widely, he could only nod happily at her response, so openly given. Had she been coy, he might have faltered. "You make a very polite guest," he noted. Then before he could think too hard on it, he continued with, "and quite the lovely one. You look very nice in your dress, Lucy. I meant to tell you earlier…"

Touching her hair lightly, checking the set of her combs with self conscious fingers, Lucy smiled. "Thank you," she said. "Quite the change from dirty breeches and tangled hair! I wasn't sure you'd recognise me."

"Well, I didn't at all, but I remembered Bart from the docks and guessed it must be you."

"Fergus!"

"Alright, I'll admit to that lie. But my story about the leviathan is true."

She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Bart was very excited to meet you. He wanted to hear the story of our adventure over and over again, I was afraid he'd ask you to tell it as well!"

"I would have happily indulged him."

"I expected you would. You have a way with people, Fergus. It is little wonder all of Highever thinks so well of you."

"The affection is mutual," he said.

Gesturing the arrangement of couches and chairs, Fergus let her seat herself, hoping she would choose a couch and that she would sit to the side, so as to invite him to share her seat. She did. Improper behaviour, he realised, for a maiden and an unmarried man, but they were neither. They had both done this before and so the rules were relaxed somewhat. Sitting next to her, close, but not too close, Fergus leaned back into the soft cushions of the couch and settled comfortably.

As they were seated closer together than at dinner, he caught the familiar scent of her, fresh herbs, elfroot and something else, her soap, probably. The smell took him back to the caves and it seemed as though the sitting room faded around them and they were together in the dimly lit passages again, except comfortably seated, warm, and properly dressed.

"I came looking for you," he confessed into the quiet that had risen between them. "Last week. I walked the row of cliff side cottages, not knowing which one was yours."

"I came looking for you," she replied. At his quizzical expression, she clarified. "It was the same evening. I heard you were in the tavern and I walked all the way to the door."

"You never came inside."

"No."

"What stopped you?" He knew, and he saw the answer in her eyes as he recalled Patrick's words. Taking her hand he said, "Thank you for accepting my invitation, Lucy. I could think of no other way to visit with you, and not set tongues to wagging."

"Fergus, we could be…" she stopped and blushed. Clearing her throat softly, Lucy sipped at her water, before setting the cup on the table before them. "Well, I could hardly refuse an invitation from the Teyrn himself, though that might have been an excuse for you to visit my cottage."

Her soft chuckles died away as Fergus tried to restore his expression from the forlorn fall it had taken at her suggestion that she might have refused his invitation.

"I would have taken a no as a 'no', Lucy," he said hesitantly, realising what he alluded to, knowing it underscored this entire conversation.

"Then it _is_ a good thing I accepted, otherwise you might have continued to lurk outside my cottage and I outside the tavern and the whole town might think us mad."

Fergus chuckled, encouraged by her words. Realising he still held her hand, he looked down at their curled fingers. "The whole town has seen me drink in the tavern, and sing, and many have heard my leviathan story. They have also met my brother, whose antics are far worse than mine..."

"You are not painting a very good picture, Fergus."

"I thought Travers had told you all tales of our wild youth?"

Lucy let go of his hand to cover her mouth as she laughed and he missed the warmth of her fingers immediately. Before he could recapture her hand, however, Hugh and Bart approached, their voices echoing loudly in the hall, Hugh's doing, no doubt, in case the 'couple' in the sitting room needed time to compose themselves. One look at Lucy's face confirmed she harbored the same suspicions and as their eyes met, Fergus became possessed of almost irresistible urge to kiss her. Her eyes widened and a pink flush crept across her cheeks and…

The moment passed, it had to. Fleeting regret whispered through Fergus, immediately followed by a warm sort of content. His want had been reflected in her eyes, he'd seen it, and for now, that would suffice. That Lucy had wanted him to kiss her was enough. Smiling, he leaned back and looked up at the door just as Hugh and Bart strolled in.

"Mum, you should see the armory! So many swords and daggers and shields, all matching!"

Fergus chuckled. He'd seen the Royal Armory, which put his small collection of arms to shame, but he did not spoil Bart's impression. Instead, he looked up to Hugh and asked, "Did you show him the bows as well?"

"I did, he took a liking to a particular one."

"Oh?" He had an idea he knew which one would appeal to the twelve year old boy. One of the smaller bows had a wave motif carved along the slender arms. It was a unique and attractive weapon and a good fit for a boy his size. "Maybe next time you visit, you can practice with the knights in the yard, give it a try?"

Bart looked immediately to his mother for permission and she nodded. "Perhaps I will bring my sword and ask the Teyrn for a match!"

Fergus turned to regard Lucy and noted the challenge in her eyes. A wistful pang tore through him and he attempted to speak and found he could not. He wanted to tell her that he'd welcome the match, would look forward to it, but all he could think of suddenly was his wife, Oriana, and her refusal to pick up a weapon. Lucy's expression faltered and Fergus knew if he did not force out the words, the moment would be ruined. Swallowing over the lump in his throat, he said somewhat hoarsely, "I will look forward to it," then reached for his whiskey, taking a large swallow to ease the sudden dryness of his throat.

Bart and Hugh sat and the four of them conversed lightly for a while before Lucy noted the lateness of the hour.

"Can we escort you home?"

"Thank you, yes," Lucy replied sensibly. Her cottage did not lie far from the castle, perhaps half an hour's walk, but night had fallen and the lane extending towards the cliff was not lit.

Hugh and Bart walked ahead and Fergus admired his knight's ability to fully engage a twelve year old. That the knight clung to bachelorhood did not surprise him, Hugh had enjoyed the company of more than one lady over the years, though he conducted his affairs discreetly. But at only thirty four years of age, he had time yet, should he decide to settle. Fergus had no doubt there were women in Highever who daydreamed of Hugh's roguish charm. It was little surprise he and Aedan had got along well.

As the knight and the boy pulled a little ahead, Fergus reached for Lucy's hand in the dark. They did not talk as they walked, both seemed content to listen to the chatter of their chaperones. Fergus was more than content to simply walk at her side, his fingers entwined with hers. When they arrived at the cottage, the one at the end, the one he had paused behind, pretending to admire the view, Bart cast a sly look at his mother and reached for Hugh's arm.

"Let me show you my bow before you go, Ser Hugh."

Hugh complied with out a backward glance.

Turning to Lucy, Fergus murmured, "I think our friendship has earned Bart's stamp of approval."

She smiled warmly, either at the thought her son had blessed her acquaintance with the Teyrn or at the thought their friendship might continue and grow and then the moment had come upon them again; they were alone and by the design of a twelve year old boy. Fergus knew if he did not kiss her now, he would be a fool. No nerves clenched his gut and no itch teased his hands, only the slight chill of the night air stirred past his skin, making the connection of their joined fingers more welcome. He leaned forward and she lifted her chin. Their lips touched and the contact was not brief. It was a first kiss, but not, as hesitancy fled and the maturity of two adults lent a sureness and certainty to their actions. Her lips were as warm and soft as they looked and Fergus kissed her properly, savoring the feel and taste of her. This time, when the moment passed and they drew back from one another, it was not with wistful regret, it was with wide smiles and looks of affection.

Happiness bloomed within the quiet teyrn and he squeezed her fingers gently. "I will see you in three days time," he said, confirming the agreed upon date for Bart's trial of the bow and their sparring match.

"Does the idea of me wielding a sword discomfort you, Fergus?" Lucy asked suddenly.

He understood the nature of her enquiry. Many men believed women should dedicate themselves to the more feminine arts. If he held such an opinion, she would want to know it now, before they moved forward, before they exchanged more than one lingering kiss.

"No, Lucy, it does not," he answered truthfully. "I think more women should learn the art of defense. Fathers, brothers…" he felt his brows drawing together and worked to settle his expression, "…and husbands are not always around to do the job," he finished quietly.

Lucy seemed to understand his meaning and she nodded soberly.

"Good night, Lucy."

"Good night, Fergus."

Hugh respected his silence during the walk back to the castle and Fergus mentally thanked him for it. He'd known, in a sense, that moving forward with Lucy would dredge up the past, memories, feelings, joys and sorrows. In as many ways as she was different from Oriana, there would be similarities as well. And Lucy would have her own memories, her own past. They would both need a certain strength of character to take their two separate stories and attempt to knit them together.

They reached the castle and Hugh turned towards the knights lodgings.

"Hugh?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for this evening."

Smiling, the rogue gripped his arm fondly. "Take a deep breath, Fergus. 'Tis but the beginning, eh?"


	20. All Over Again

All Over Again

Leliana could barely believe the changes that swept over Aedan. Energy flowed through him, exciting and tangible, and he seemed barely able to contain it. His blue eyes sparked with his renewed vigour and each and every time he caught her gaze, her heart leapt and she was reminded of their first days together as lovers when every touch had been deliberate, every word remembered, every look long and lingering, exclusive of other company and the rest of Thedas.

How long had it been since they spent an entire day together, in bed? Too long – years probably. They spent the hours closing the gap between them, physically, emotionally, mentally. They made love, they exchanged words of love, they touched and they talked. They exchanged stories, their hopes, dreams and fears. They shed no more tears and shared more than a little laughter. They pretended they were children and played games, rewarding each other with more adult prizes. Finally they slept again, wrapped so closely about one another they should not have been comfortable.

She woke before he did and in the fading light of day watched him sleep. How was it he could look so much the same and yet different? More than the number of his new scars changed him. She counted them absently as her eyes roamed from the mark across his forehead to the new bump at the bridge of his narrow nose. Beneath the mark across his cheek she saw some of the new maturity that defined his face now, a hollowness that might never disappear, lines about his eyes and mouth, faint, barely visible, but indelibly etched. The perpetual stubble across his jaw barely hid another scar and, just like her, reaching over his shoulder, one of the new, long lines that scored his back. His ribs were marked in many places, not all of these scars new, and the arm about her had a horrible reminder of the wound that had gone untended for nearly a week. But he was whole and healthy and sound and he looked like Aedan. Now he acted just like Aedan too and this made her smile.

Thedas finally intruded in the form of a hesitant knock at their door. Aedan opened his eyes and in the dimly lit room, Leliana thought the shadows had returned to the cool, blue depths. They had not; he blinked and saw her and his entire face lit with the life he had carried back down from the tower. She almost wished she had gone there with him and shared the moment he remembered he was alive and, ruefully, she wondered if she should have shared her secret earlier, of how Riordan came to be. But it had been his moment and it had happened when it was supposed to, as if divined.

She had told Aedan over five years before that she believed the Maker had led him to her and her to him. She still believed that for many reasons – their quest and their love. The night she had told him she carried his child Aedan told her he believed Riordan was a gift from the Maker. Together, the night before, they had decided he still was. They had both felt the presence of His unseen hand and though they did not dwell overlong in theological discussion, they shared a common belief. The Maker may have turned His back on the world, but He still watched and waited, and every now and then, He encouraged.

Their shared gaze, during which Thedas once again threatened to fall away, was interrupted by another knock, this one less hesitant. Luke's voice sounded through the door.

"Aedan? Leli?"

They were called to dinner and they went, but not before the five Couslands spent a proper hour together during which Rory spoke seriously of his day and demonstrated the fruits of his labors by disappearing and reappearing again across the room, soft footfalls, a quiet bump and an even softer whisper betraying his small journey. Leliana grinned and held out her arms to her son, proud of his determination.

"Next we will work on walking softly, so even gravel will not sound beneath your step."

Aedan snorted and she winked at him, knowing her tall warrior more than made up for his lack of stealth in other ways.

Grace had been practicing too, though not as determinedly, and her path across the room was marked by giggles and flashes of blonde curls as she lost her concentration and decided to turn the display into a performance of a different kind, adding a little dance at the end.

Luke sat through it all with a grin so wide it almost looked comical and he entertained them with a story of his and Alistair's visit to the kitchens and their attempt to make off with a tray of still cooling pastries. Not one of the five Couslands wondered why the king had tempted Luke to steal food rather than simply ask for it. They all had a little rogue inside them, even the noisy warriors.

Over the next few days the rest of Thedas fell away from her and Aedan over and again as they rediscovered one another and Leliana fell in love with her husband once more. She had never not loved him, but as had become obvious over the past few months, they had both changed, so very much. They lived in a world that challenged them constantly, but even without the darkspawn, politics and the trials of their particular choices, they would have met similar problems. They both hungered for knowledge and every fact absorbed changed one's perception slightly. They had their own friends and purposes that would occasionally draw them apart. They had children. No one could have children and not grow with them. Determinedly, they cast aside their differences and past hurts and worked to embrace the changes and incorporate them into the new thread of their lives. They did not ask each other for forgiveness and they did not dwell on the past. There were moments, still, when conversation would falter and a ghost would intrude, but united they said: "It doesn't matter anymore," or "We'll talk about it later, when we are settled." They had time now, not everything had to be said and done in the space of days.

A few instances were not so easily put aside, however.

They were sitting in the gardens watching Rory and Grace play a new form of tag: stealth chase. As always, they touched, their hands loosely clasped together between them.

Aedan leaned over to kiss her neck, his fingers brushing her hair aside, his lips lingering and then he straightened and said, "Why don't you wear the perfume I gave you anymore?"

Turning to look at him, Leliana saw that if she did not want to answer, he'd not press. But she knew this would be something he saved for later. Andraste's Grace, the flower and the scent of it, had become a symbol between them, one of their most enduring connections. It marked the very beginning of their friendship. He had named their daughter for it, to honor her and her mother.

Casting her gaze back over the grass beneath them, Leliana reached out to pluck a thick blade and thread it through her fingers. When she looked over at Aedan again, he watched her hand and the way the stripe of green wrapped about her fingers one by one as she moved it through a simple pattern. He looked calm, restive, thoughtful. Would she wrest the peace from his expression with her story? Guilt flickered briefly as she remembered why she had not told him about Riordan right away, why she smoothed over details of many such things – in her over protectiveness she had wrapped Aedan in a layer of the stuff that had come between them, distance.

"Because I cannot separate the scent of it from Val Royeaux," she finally said, her voice soft. At his perplexed look, she continued. "We have killed so many men, Aedan, I cannot count them. I do not know why it bothers me so that I chose to kill Paul Le Trene." Understanding washed through his pale blue eyes and he squeezed her hand softly. Taking a breath, she attempted to explain it, to herself and to him. "I thought you would die, Aedan. Even if I killed him, Marjolaine would never have been satisfied. His death would have been meaningless, though most deaths count for little, do they not?"

They had talked about Paul Le Trene before and Aedan had comforted her to the best of his ability at the time, he had stayed present long enough to hold her and tell her how sorry he was, but as always, the nothingness had taken him away soon after, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Now he attended her properly and his attitude reminded her of the way he had listened during the Blight, when she had told him of her capture after Marjolaine's betrayal.

"You're right," he said. "Marjolaine would have killed me sooner rather than later. I only have so many bones and, while mad, she was no fool. The less of me that remained, the less of you she would have had, and her attempt at gaining your loyalty would have soured with the stench of my wounds."

Aedan usually spoke very plainly, except when he wrote. His letters always seemed oddly poetic to her as he rarely hesitated to put his heart on each page. Every now and then that poetry would slip into his speech, particularly when he talked of things important to him. She realised now that he'd given Marjolaine's motivations a lot of thought – this should not have surprised her, he'd had ample time for thinking – and she also realised that he had reached the same conclusion that she had. Marjolaine had never intended to let him go, or live.

The twist of grass had started to fray about her fingers and Leliana lifted it to her face, taking in the fresh, green scent of it. "There is a moment frozen in my memory," she said. "As I took aim at his heart it was as if Thedas took in a breath and held it. I could feel my pulse, I could hear the bow stretch and I could smell only one thing: Andraste's Grace." Aedan's fingers touched her cheek and she looked up at him. "I should let it go," she murmured, "and reclaim what is mine."

He looked wistful for a moment as he gazed at her, his thumb brushing across her cheek. "Whatever you decide, Leli." That he would be there with her did not need to be said. His arm moved about her shoulders and he held her close for a few moments, letting his presence comfort her. Then he smiled and a familiar, cheeky glint sparked in his eyes. "We can choose something else, if you like. Many of the scents you have worn over the past few months have been quite nice." So he had noticed all of them… she smiled, surprised and not at the same time. "The lemony one, I'll admit I did not like so much, but there was one that smelled of smooth wood," he laughed, "smooth wood? Ah, you're a minstrel, I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. You smelled of apples one day, I liked that also. Reminded me of apple pie." Then his stomach growled and he leaned into nibble at her neck. "Mm, pie…"

Her giggles were joined by Grace's as the children decided that Aedan's attentions looked like play time and joined them on their patch of grass, climbing and crawling, squealing and snuggling.

Their duties separated them for a few days as she sat in almost stunned silence beneath the sheer volume of Lanford Ackerman's words and Aedan spent time with Oghren, Luke and the Wardens. While no longer the Warden Commander, he still had more knowledge of darkspawn than most and he had now had the presence of mind to properly absorb the news of the tainted plague and the Mage. He studied maps and made notes of his own discoveries for the Wardens. He wrote letters to the Order in Orlais, he wrote letters to Orzammar and he attempted to pass on all he knew and to outline all he had planned. His work was apparently well received, according to Luke. He was doing what he could not before: letting go. He was handing the reigns over and tidying his affairs. When they left Denerim, he would leave it all behind – not the brotherhood, but the Order.

Another instance of oddness caught up with them at Fort Drakon one afternoon.

She and Brenna walked over there to watch the sparring matches that seemed to spring up in the afternoon when the soldiers seemed to tire of paperwork and drills. With the Wardens in town, many of the matches had been spirited and both Rory and Grace enjoyed watching Luke and Aedan fight. Rory liked to drag a large wooden dagger about and poke the men in the legs with it, much to the amusement of all his victims and everyone took turns 'sparring' with him. Grace seemed less interested in the weapons than she did her new found stealth and Leliana had to keep an eye on her lest the little girl disappear and reappear in the middle of a match. She and Aedan had decided to give both the children basic lessons in the use of a dagger when they settled at Gwaren. He agreed that learning to hide was invaluable and she agreed that learning to defend themselves was equally important.

Runir and Zevran were sparring and both Rory and Grace became rapt in the display of stealth during combat, the pair of rogues masters at it and neither of them shy in demonstrating their skill and finesse. After briefly watching the spinning daggers and shadowy forms, Leliana looked for Aedan. She saw him sitting next to Alistair and noted his attention seemed to be on the match in front of him, an odd look on his face, then he glanced unerringly at her, as if he'd known she stood there. Leliana shivered in that instant, caught by the unusual intensity of his eyes as he pushed off the bench and strode towards her. His expression softened as he reached her side and he greeted the queen as he usually did, a warm smile and a kiss to the cheek. Then his arm encircled her in a possessive manner and he kissed her cheek also, lingering there as if he'd like to do more. Then his lips moved against her ear and she heard his quiet whisper, "Marin watches you too intently for my liking." There was no accusation in his words, only a statement of fact. Then he dropped down to greet his children and Leliana turned her head just in time to catch the gaze of the Orlesian Warden standing behind her on the steps of the fort. Marin ducked his head and disappeared up the steps and through the dark shadow between the two large doors.

The weight of Marin's eyes had touched her on and off over the previous two weeks. He always acted appropriately, but she never forgot what she'd seen that night at the inn and now she became aware of his attention at odd moments. He never acted other than he was, a gentleman, she knew he'd been raised by noble parents in Val Royeaux and had manners to spare though he never relied upon them. As the third son, his future had been fluid and he'd taken that to heart, escaping the nest of Orlesian politics and taking to the sea at the age of eighteen. It had been on board a ship he'd learned how to cook, having first lied to say he could in order to secure a position, and then having to actually learn to keep his job. He'd sailed for ten years before landing in Ferelden shortly after the Blight, enticed by rumours of a new Order, of dedicating his sword to something other than the next skirmish and his life to something beyond the next port of call. He was a good man, Leliana firmly believed that. He was also a man with a once sided infatuation born first of friendship and second out of care for a friend he perceived as suffering. He would never touch her, she knew that, but his regard would not do him any favours, romantically or in the eyes of his brother.

When Aedan straightened, Grace in his arms, Leliana caught his wrist. "He means no harm, it will fade," she said.

Studying the depths of her husband's blue eyes she saw something she'd never seen before: jealousy. Aedan had never displayed it, he had always been confident in their relationship. He noted other men's interest in his wife with pride and good humour and she had see his eyes stray as well, he naturally looked at attractive women and even commented on their assets on occasion, again, always with good humour. Now he regarded her possessively as if he realised he'd effectively been absent, for some time, and he might have lost her for reasons other than his own distraction. Leliana reassured him the only way she knew how to there and then, she kissed him, properly, knowing everyone around them would be rolling their eyes and exchanging looks at display, knowing it was nothing any of them had not seen before. His looked somewhat mollified when their lips parted and they exchanged a smile.

Alistair and Brenna surprised their friends and the citizens of Denerim by announcing their plans to adopt Henric. Leliana applauded their decision and Aedan added his whole hearted support. The father of two adopted children, he could only repeat over and over how glad he was they had decided to start their family a little early.

Leliana knew Henric and thought him a sweet and wonderful child. He would blossom beneath Brenna's love and Alistair's attention. Aedan took to him immediately, but then, Aedan liked anyone who didn't try to kill him, the one exception to that rule being Zevran, of course. Zevran had an odd attitude towards the boy and Leliana guessed immediately at the cause of the wistful look in the elf's amber eyes.

Moving next to her friend she said softly, "But for the twists and turns of fate, we might all be the sons and daughters of kings."

Zevran turned to smile at her and dipped his head in acknowledgement of her words. "Do you ever wonder where you might be had circumstances been different?" If her mother had not died, if Lady Cecilie had not been kind, if Marjolaine had not recruited her upon the death of her guardian.

"All the time, that is why I tell stories," she answered.

"Perhaps one day you can tell me mine, my friend, the version where I am not the son of a whore or branded by the Crows."

Leliana wondered at his tone, he did not often express bitterness at his fate or the course his life had taken. Another of those odd shivers passed behind her shoulders and she looked closely at the elf. She had no idea how old Zevran was, a little older than her, she thought, old enough to have a life time of bitterness and joy lurking behind his warm, light brown eyes. He would be leaving them soon, she realised then. Aedan would no longer stalk the Deep Roads and Luke had become a man because of (or in spite of) their care. Zevran was not a Warden and only his loyalty to an oath, long released, kept him in their service. That and the ties of family they had wrapped around him and his deep affection for Kayley. He was at a crossroads, Leliana guessed. In one direction he saw the endless patrols with Luke, in another he saw his blades gathering dust in Gwaren. Did he look to the other side, to a future with Kayley or did he currently glance behind, at his past, and wonder when it might overtake him again.

"Zevran," she started, and he looked up from the huddle of children, his face plain for a change, the thoughts she guessed at lurking just beneath the surface. She placed a hand on his arm. "Do not ever forget we are your family."

The lurking thoughts flickered in his eyes and he nodded, and then be became Zevran once more. "And an odd one at that. Have you forgotten my attempts to lure you into my tent, Leliana?" He winked as she chuckled, remembering his offers to show her his tattoos and his indiscreet attempts to enquire how long it had been since she last 'knocked boots'. Aedan glanced up at her laughter and his eyes flicked between her and Zevran and she wondered why he never exhibited jealousy at the closeness of her friendship with the former Crow. She did not ponder it for long, her own words circling back: _we are family._

"Will you come to Gwaren with us Zevran, for a while?" _Before you leave us…_

"Yes." Again his face appeared naked before her. Did he do it deliberately or did she know him so well she could see through his many guises? Now she saw a longing in his eyes, not entirely wistful, but tinged with indecision. "I think it is time to pluck Kayley from those dark tunnels and reintroduce her to the sunshine." He smiled, the curve of his lips almost lascivious, but not quite.

"A good plan," she agreed.

They planned to leave Denerim at the end of the week. It would be a parting of many. The Denerim patrol would accompany them to Gwaren and the Northern Patrol would resume its route. Travers and the men from Highever would return home.

Two days before they were due to leave a man arrived at the front gate of Denerim with news of ghouls. According to Luke and Alistair, this had happened on and off after the plague and the Wardens had dutifully investigated each incident. They had only found evidence of ghouls once and then it had only been the lingering traces of the taint. When Luke described the scene to her, Leliana watched his face carefully, thinking at first she looked to see how he handled seeing so much death at his age, then realising she watched for something else – what he held back. The young Warden idolized Aedan, would it be ridiculous to fear he would turn out too much like his adoptive father? But as Luke spoke, she saw the proper horror in his eyes and the relief that replaced it as he offered his story and let it out. No rage lurked in the depths of his brown eyes only the occasional bewilderment of a young man.

He described the one instance they'd found evidence of ghouls: "Had we not been Wardens, we might never have known the awful, tearing wounds on the bodies were caused by hands that used to be human. They forget, Leli, what it is to be a man."

She remembered. They had encountered many ghouls during the Blight. And of course, the fate would be personal to Luke. He might have become one. Eyeing the slender line about his neck, Leliana resisted the urge to touch it, smooth it away. He did not cover it, he seemed to accept it as scar, a mark of passage, but did not like to talk about it.

While it might be easy to discount news of ghouls from a ragged man at the front gate, a man who looked in need of a bath and a good meal, who had the look of the road and could be a traveler manufacturing tales in hopes of just that: a bath and a good meal, certain details marked his story out from previous such tales. He had come from the road south and said his party had been ambushed by the ghouls. Not fallen upon, ambushed. He also had an arrow wound. Ghouls rarely used weapons and never a bow. They clawed with their hands and they used knifes, stakes, whatever they had about their person. Their weapons were crude and ill kept – a wound from one might fester as badly as any they inflicted with their unnaturally long fingernails.

After the man was made comfortable at the fort Leliana slipped into the meeting between Oghren, Alistair, Aedan, Travers, Rolf and Ben, the leader of the Denerim Wardens.

Aedan looked up at her entrance and beckoned her to his side, a sign of their new, united purpose. Whatever was decided regarding the supposed ghouls lurking on the road to Gwaren, she and he would work together.

"We should all move towards Gwaren, escort the Commander there and investigate the ghouls on the way," Rolf said.

"The Northern Highway has not seen Wardens in over a month, Rolf," Ben put in. Darkspawn sightings were rare, mostly because of the Warden presence. The Northern and Western Patrols moved along their respective highways towards the other side of Lake Calenhad. Even when they met no darkspawn, they carried with them something almost as important, peace. Fereldans watched them pass and welcomed them into their homes and taverns. They felt safe seeing the Wardens on the road, knowing that so long as they were out there, ever vigilant, the darkspawn would remain as they had been for ages: something on the pages of history.

"But if they are after Aedan…" Alistair started.

"No," Aedan interrupted. "I am just one man, Alistair. Rolf is right. The Northern Patrol should resume its course north." After a pause, he added quietly, "In peace, vigilance."

Travers cleared his throat and all looked towards him. "This may seem too simple a ruse," he began, "but if we were to travel north with the Northern Patrol, back to Highever, in much the same formation as you were to travel south, perhaps we might draw the foe in two directions at once, split their focus."

Oghren spoke up. "Before the mage, I'd not have credited any of the blighters with a thought between them, but it seems to me this could be a trap of sorts? It's well known the Commander is on his way to Gwaren, maybe the damned ghouls or whoever is driving them plan to lure you out of the city a few days early, Warden. Before you're ready."

Everyone nodded and made considering noises. What Oghren suggested was entirely possible. The conversation moved back and forth for a while and Leliana listened with interest as the six men tossed out ideas, abandoning some and championing others.

Alistair then turned to her and asked, "What do you think, Leliana?"

All six men looked to her with genuine interest and Leliana moved from the circle of Aedan's arm to the map they had spread on the table before them. Glancing up at Travers, she said softly, "I think Travers' plan has the most merit." She did not ask if the knight was willing to risk his men again, she did not have to. Besides the fact he had already put forth the suggestion, she knew he acted out of genuine fondness for Aedan, concern for his well being, and out of loyalty to the family he had given his oath to, the Couslands. Had Aedan been of Redcliffe instead, Travers might still have made his offer, he was not knight captain of Highever simply for his ability to wear armour and wield a sword. He was a knight in the truest sense.

Seven heads bent together then and a plan was formed.

They did not leave Denerim early, despite the temptation too, Oghren's somber warning keeping them to a schedule of their own choosing. Leliana left the planning to the Wardens and soldiers and spent the remaining two days with Brenna and the children. The queen glowed not only with her pregnancy, the slightest curve now visible beneath the waist of her dress, but in her new role as a mother. Henric often seemed bemused by her attentions, and seemed to adapt well to his new circumstances. Brenna had given him a small room of his own, thinking a large one might overwhelm him and to Leliana's mind, that had been the proper decision. Children's spaces could grow with them, she thought. In the palace Rory and Grace shared a room and complained not a whit, they enjoyed one another's company for the most part.

Their last day in Denerim Leliana ran into Marin in the palace, literally. She rounded a corner, her thoughts inward as she mentally packed the rest of the belongings strewn about their apartment. The children were with Brenna and Aedan was at the Fort. She had been down to the kitchens to check on provisions and the laundry to collect the last of their clothing, a large pile of which she held in her arms. She saw his shadow a moment too late and stepped wide to avoid colliding with whoever approached from the opposite direction. Marin stepped out also, probably to do the same, and they collided. His arms immediately reached to steady her and the folded laundry she held fell about them in a soft explosion of colour, shirts and socks dotted here and there across the floor.

As soon as he recognised her, Marin dropped his hands quickly and stepped back. He looked so uncomfortable and embarrassed and a wave of sympathy for him caught her.

"My apologies, Leliana," he murmured in his familiar accent before he knelt down to begin collecting the clothes.

Leliana knelt also. "I was lost in my thoughts, Marin, it is no matter." She smiled brightly at him, hoping to ease his discomfort. She did wonder at his presence in the palace, however.

He explained it right away. "I came to see you," he started quietly, not looking at her, his attention instead on gathering balled up pairs of socks.

"Marin…"

"Just to say goodbye," he finished. Looking up, he smiled and handed across his collection of laundry. "You look happy again, both of you do. It is… a great relief."

"Thank you, Marin."

"He is a good man, Leliana," he said and she looked at him oddly, wondering at his thoughts.

"As are you, Marin," she offered quietly. "You have always been a good friend to us."

He stood and she followed, her arms once again full of laundry.

"I…" his brows drew together and his gaze seemed caught by a mark on the floor beside his boots. When he looked up, she saw it in his face again, the care and regard he had for her and rather than make her uncomfortable, it saddened her that he still held to it. "I apologise if I made you uncomfortable. I would never have… you are…"

She touched his hand. "I appreciate that you were looking out for me, Marin. I am fortunate to have such a dear friend." Tilting her head, she said quietly, her tone lightly teasing, "She is out there waiting for you somewhere; take the time to find her."

Marin smiled at her advice. "Ah, Leliana, perhaps you have a sister, hm? Someone for the rest of us."

She chuckled at his humour and realised that with it, he determined to move forward. He _had_ come here to say goodbye, in more ways than one. Marin looked up at a step behind her and Leliana did not have to turn to know who had entered the hallway. She knew Aedan's step, she knew his presence, and she saw the apprehension in Marin's face. What had brought her husband to the palace, to this hallway, at this precise moment? Had he been guided by that unseen hand? Or merely the twists and turns of fate?

Marin crossed his arms and bowed. "Commander."

Aedan stopped beside Leliana and nodded his head towards the Warden. "Marin."

An awkward and uncomfortable silence enveloped the three of them, full of all that they knew and all that they thought they might know.

Leliana spoke first. "Marin came to say goodbye."

After a brief pause, Marin said, "There will be a large crowd at the gate tomorrow; I sought a more quiet moment."

She felt her husband tense slightly beside her and held her breath, knowing what Aedan was capable of, knowing intimately the darkness that lurked within, the deep well of rage that seemed to be capped but would probably always be there, somewhere.

Marin again took the initiative. He extended his hand towards Aedan. "I wish you all the best, Aedan. The Order will move forward without you, but only because of you."

Aedan took the offered hand in a firm grip and Leliana let her breath out slowly. "Thank you," he said.

Marin continued, his words taking on a more personal tone. "You look well again, Aedan. Truly. Take care of yourself, hm?"

A forward step had Leliana catching her breath again and something like surprise briefly flashed across Marin's features before Aedan enveloped the man in a close embrace. "Take care, brother," Aedan murmured. Pulling back, he smiled and said, "I will miss your cooking, Marin."

With a grin, Marin replied, "I will not miss yours."

Aedan laughed. "Come fishing at Gwaren in the spring," he invited.

"I will. Cooking fish, as you know, is my specialty."

And just like that, the air between all of them cleared. Marin moved off down the hall and Leliana turned to face Aedan. He watched the Warden retreat then turned to her and said, "I am a lucky, lucky man."

Rather than ask his thoughts, what had led him to choose friendship over animosity towards Marin, Leliana simply smiled and agreed with him. "Yes, you are."

The day of their departure dawned cool and clear and from the city gates Ferelden seemed to spread wide before them, the sky blue and cloudless, the road south long, quiet and beckoning. The children bounced, Luke bounced. Leliana grinned to see the boyish man moving about on his toes, his entire bearing proclaiming his eagerness to be at his work again. In fact, smiles and cheerful sounds abounded. Despite the fact they knew they likely headed towards danger, there was a sense of optimism. They moved towards more than ghouls and ambushes. A mystery would be unraveled and beyond it lay their home and their future. A new beginning where they might start all over again.

After everyone finished their extended farewells, hugs, kisses and prayers, Aedan stepped forward and took her hand, his long fingers curling through hers in a way so familiar.

"Ready for the next step in our journey, love?"

"Always, my sweet Warden, always."

* * *

_A/N: When I wrote the first hint of Marin's infatuation, back at the inn on the road, I only meant it as another element, a possible direction things could take if Aedan and Leliana were to separate. I don't know that Leliana would have chosen another Warden, to be honest, but I am sure that Marin is not the only man in Ferelden, or the Order who is a little bit in love with her, which is why I included the reminder of Zevran's antics during the Blight. If anything, it was another subtle push for Aedan and something for Leliana to think about. _

_I did not know how that particular thread would end – I had originally planned for Marin to find Leliana in the garden after Aedan had stormed out of their suite. He would offer comfort (not in a cheesy way, just a hug) and Zevran would find them and escort Marin away. Or perhaps Aedan would find them and break the poor guy's nose. But then Aedan decided to go to the tower and become 'born again' (*lol*) and it just felt out of character for him to resort to such a stunt. So when I wrapped the thread up here, in this chapter, I could easily imagine him stepping forward and hugging Marin as a brother. Marin is one of my oldest Wardens and he and Aedan have been friends for a long time. I'd like to think that superseded all else and that Aedan is man enough, gentleman enough, to take the high road here. I never doubted that Marin would be a gentleman throughout. He's always been one of my favourite Wardens. I'd like to write his story: him leaving home and learning to cook aboard that ship, could be a fun one._

_Enough rambling – on with THIS story. Luke is up next to tell us about what they encounter on the road to Gwaren. After that I have only a few chapters left. We'll hear from Aedan again, twice, Leliana, once and Fergus has a sparring match with Lucy. I know this hasn't been my usual sort of story – but thanks to all who have taken this journey to Gwaren with Aedan. Turns out he and Leliana still had a lot of healing to do…_


	21. Dawn

Dawn

First watch could be pleasant; not everyone went to bed early and the after dinner chat around the campfire could extend into the wee hours with the men exchanging stories, jokes and coin as impromptu games of chance came about. While those on duty did patrol the perimeter on occasion, they all knew trouble rarely occurred during first watch. Only the desperate and the stupid walked into a camp full of partially armoured and mostly awake men.

Second watch stole sleep. Staying awake for it never worked out well, the remaining three hours of sleep were not enough to walk eight to ten hours on, let alone attempt watch the next night, and being pulled from sleep in the middle of a dream left one feeling disoriented for near on an hour. Only Zevran seemed talkative on second watch, other partners grumbled and groaned in unison and conversation usually existed of inarticulate grunts as weary legs walked the perimeter. Then, just as wakefulness and alertness was achieved the watch ended and a cold bedroll beckoned.

The third and last watch often arrived after a solid six hours of sleep. Dreams had time to conclude, muscles had time to ease and then a quiet man could watch Thedas come to life. Darkness and peace always blanketed the first hour or so as stalkers of the night finished their hunt and sought their own rest. Even the wind seemed to take a pause that early and the world held still, breath held in, thoughts quiet, awaiting the approach of first light. So as not to disturb the slumber of nature, men spoke in quiet voices during last watch, if they spoke at all, and the walk of the perimeter often felt as if it summoned the dawn as mist receded between the trees and light edged the horizon. A querulous bird call announced the day and a moment later Thedas would wake, all at once, breath let out as the air stirred once more and man and creature alike opened their eyes and began their day.

Luke liked taking last watch. He enjoyed greeting the dawn as it approached and appreciated the more restive nature of his various partners. It might have been Leliana's influence, but he often likened the dawn to a song, one that built gradually from the silence of night to the chitter and chatter of day, one sound at a time. He'd actually sat and listened for each addition and when he described the experience to Leliana, knowing she'd appreciate it, she gave him one of the hugs he didn't mind so much, an arm about the shoulders and a gentle sideways lean. A companionable hug, not the kiss on the forehead and gathered too tightly maternal clasp she used on other occasions.

While second watch could be considered the most dangerous – sleepy men and quiet campsites were enticing targets – experience had taught the Wardens that last watch often invited more trouble. The breaking light of dawn brought with it a lassitude that often proved hard to drop when reaching for swords and pieces of armor. With the night nearly done, sentries could be fooled into thinking the danger had passed and that with the light of day, all would be well.

That morning Luke shared last watch with Aedan. Father and son operated as a single man for the first hour, both emerging from their tents with a quiet attitude, one nod exchanged and near matching armour and weapons quietly donned and sheathed. They moved off together, towards the road, and walked the perimeter in complete silence for nearly half an hour before Aedan finally spoke.

"I dreamed of Cian last night," he said.

Glancing sideways, Luke noted again how he nearly met Aedan's height, and he caught the older man's blue gaze, grey in the low light of predawn, and asked, "Do you dream of him often?"

"Sometimes."

After their visit to the tower of Fort Drakon that night, Luke spent some time thinking about the 'little brother' he'd never met. He found himself watching Rory more closely and Grace sometimes too – looking for what, he couldn't say exactly. He already knew they were both a little different, what with the dreams and being the children of such extraordinary parents. All the Couslands were a little different, he supposed, himself included. He looked hints of the mysterious Cian in their lives, as if he expected to see a third small child, or maybe even his shadow, playing alongside Rory and Grace. He never did, not really, but on occasion he thought he felt a presence.

Leliana sat beside him one day as he looked for that third child and she said, "Why are you studying the shadows so intently, Luke? Is Zevran out there somewhere, hiding?"

Smiling, he answered, "No." Looking at her, he wondered if he could tell her what he was looking for, then realised he probably could. "I was looking for Cian." She showed no surprise. "Is it odd that I think I can feel him sometimes?"

"No, not at all," she replied. He expected she'd tell him something mystical then, something about shadows of expected beings, but instead she said, "He watches us, Luke, all of us. Not always, but when he can, more usually in our dreams."

He took a breath and held it, disturbed for a moment by the prospect of that odd child, one that carried the soul of an Old God, watching him, even as he suspected it. "Why?" he asked.

"Because we are his family and he is curious about us… and because he cares."

Luke scratched his head, puzzled by the idea of a child he'd never met caring for him and the rest of the family.

"He led Aedan from the Fade, or tried to, when he had the fever," Leliana explained.

"Aedan said he dreams of him; Rory does too, doesn't he?"

"Yes."

"Does it… bother you, Leli?"

"Oh, Luke, we are such an odd little family." She smiled, not sadly, but not exactly brightly either. "I would like to say no, but you are a man, yes? You understand what Cian means, how he came about." Infidelity, of a sort? "There are times when I wish he did not exist – but if he did not, Aedan would not be here with us. He would not have rescued you in Lothering, Rory would never have been born and Grace…" she left that one hang with a small shrug of her shoulders. Luke understood. Grace, like himself, would have become an orphan, if they had lived at all. "But he is here and he is my husband's son and there is no doubt the boy has a connection with his father, that Cian cares deeply for Aedan. That is a good thing, I think. We can never have too many brothers and sisters, friends and loved ones."

Luke agreed and Leliana's words had another effect – he realised that whatever had come between Aedan and Leliana, it had not been Cian. They were united on that front and both seemed to regard the boy with some affection. And so the young man welcomed an invisible brother to his family and kept a watch on the shadows for him.

Turning to Aedan now, he studied the warrior carefully, wondering if it had been a worrying dream or a good dream and why it had been mentioned at all. He asked, "Was it… an important dream?"

Aedan rubbed at the scar on his forehead and seemed to consider his response. "I think so. He seemed to hint trouble came our way," his gaze flicked forward and to the side, "which we are expecting, and he said I needed to look out for Grace."

"Then we'll do just that, eh?"

Aedan smiled at him, seemingly put at ease by his acceptance and attitude. "Yes. We should tell Leli when she wakes, I… I always tell her when I've, ah… spoken to Cian or Morrigan."

Luke nodded in understanding. He smiled in return, grateful Aedan had shared so much with him.

Their smiles died in the same instant as they both felt the taint. It did not pervade the air, no one but a Warden might have sensed it. Luke felt it, the way he always did, as an uneasy touch, a sick feeling, a foreboding. He'd never asked how it felt to Aedan, he didn't have to, the man's expression told him it felt the same, as did the face of every Warden he'd looked at. Wrong, it just felt wrong.

Without a word, they nodded towards the distance, but as Luke stepped in that direction, Aedan caught his arm and shook his head: No. The former commander turned back towards camp. Luke understood his purpose soon enough as Aedan's boot gently nudged Ben before he moved on towards Anders. Luke started with Zevran and then went directly to Leliana's tent. Ducking beneath the flaps, he touched Leliana's foot and she came instantly awake.

"Leli," he whispered. She blinked at him in the grey light of dawn, her face composed but tight. She knew why he'd woken her. Thinking of Aedan's dream, he said softly, "Watch out for Grace… Aedan… he had a dream."

Nodding, she reached to wake her children and set about preparing herself and them for whatever might come.

The rest of the Wardens were awake when he left the tent and most of them had started putting on their armour. No one spoke a word, they did not need to. They knew he and Aedan had sensed the taint, they all knew the plan. Zevran moved with them, having fought with Wardens for so long, he understood their signals, their body language and their purpose.

They gathered together, ready to move out, but Aedan did not follow them. Luke looked back and Aedan nodded towards his tent. Leliana emerged, dressed in her leathers and Aedan stepped to her side. He would be remaining with his wife this time. Luke went to move towards them, but Zevran caught his arm.

"No," he whispered.

"But they are alone," Luke said. "What if it's a trap?"

Zevran considered this a moment, then nodded. "I will stay; you must go with the Wardens." And with that, the elf faded from view.

Luke did not want to leave; he wanted to stand with those he loved. Duty pulled in one direction and loyalty in another, each compulsion interchangeable. He could not do both and with a wrenching movement he moved after the Wardens. Zevran would fall before he let harm come to Aedan. And Aedan…? He would not let anyone touch his family, and Leliana would…

Shaking his head, Luke did what a Warden does. He closed the connection, temporarily. He had to. He could not fight; he could not concentrate with his heart and thoughts divided.

Catching up the Anders, he followed the pull of the taint.

The touch of it felt light and vague, almost as it had when they'd investigated the one report of ghouls where they'd actually found evidence of them. Sensibly, if such a scene awaited them, they'd have felt it when they made camp. Whatever moved out there must be living, if being a ghoul could be described as such, and either at a great distance or in low numbers. As they moved closer, Luke breathed a little easier – the taint grew less faint, but no more potent which pointed to the later, fewer numbers.

Thedas woke around them, the screech of a bird sending a shiver down his spine, the breath of wind tickling his face. The shadows between the trees brightened and the mist swirling about their ankles receded, whisked away by sudden flashes of movement and their own passage. The small wood seemed to hum as it woke, a sound he had always enjoyed. The trees began to thin and stood further apart, and then dropped away altogether as the Wardens came out of the copse and onto a small ridge, rolling paddock before them in every direction.

A curl of smoke coloured the pinkish sky and Luke's breath caught as he looked out across the fields, a patchwork of yellow, green and brown, and there, in the middle of a small collection of sheds and a farmhouse, or what used to be a house, blackened, collapsed and ruined. The taint lay down there, buried, still vague, but also definite, and likely they'd find bodies too. Always there were bodies. The wind picked up and shifted direction and they smelt the smoke, faintly, burnt wood and flesh and rot. Luke's stomach turned over and a soft grunt sounded to his left, Kyle, he thought.

After the small pause, during which they all assessed the scene and likely had the same thoughts, the five Wardens began to descend the hill. Luke felt the absence of Zevran in a way that differed entirely from the creep and itch he had become so used to, knowing the rogue walked behind him or beside him, but cloaked in shadow. Almost selfishly he wondered if he'd be safe without his chaperone, his watcher and protector. He and Zevran had learned to fight as a pair, though they did not always do so. In this fight, if it came to combat, he would move between two functions. He would offer flanking and support to the warriors, Ben and Gerard, and if required he would drop back to assist Kyle and Anders. The archer and the mage worked together as a team, but Kyle could not always protect Anders. And the Warden mage was both their greatest weapon and greatest weakness. His spells healed and harmed and always drew the interest of their enemy.

The stench grew as they neared the farm proper and then seemed to separate. They soon found the reason. Crows circled a thick stand of reeds encircling a pond. It hadn't been visible from the ridge and when they investigated, they found more than one corpse. The larger parts had been a cow, the smaller – he didn't want to know. As if staring at pile of bones and gore, ripped and chewed and covered in flies and stink wasn't bad enough, his skin fairly crawled with the feel of the taint now. It permeated the air and had a settled feel. It had been here a while? But if that were the case, why had they not felt it earlier? Had he and Aedan stepped just beyond the bounds of the previous patrol? Had a variance of a few feet made all the difference?

Beyond the pond stood a shed, one wall collapsed inwards. Dark stains covered the ground before it and shallow grooves led the way into the dark interior. Luke did not want to go in the shed. None of the Wardens did. As they drew closer to it, the scent of blood and flesh assailed their nostrils, along with the taint. Whatever lay inside was not completely… dead. Ghouls were not reliable killers. They attacked until something stopped moving and then did one of two things – continued to claw madly at their victim or moved on, attracted by the noise, the sound or the smell of something new. There was no life after being mauled by a ghoul, not in Luke's mind. The wounds could not be healed by magical or medicinal means and the taint spread more swiftly in a weakened body. Someone so injured could only hope to die before they succumbed to the madness.

Ben moved his hand through a series of motions indicating he and Gerard would investigate the shed and that the rest of them should remain were they were. He did not have to tell them to be alert. A Warden was ever vigilant. The two warriors moved through the slice of darkness left open by the hanging door and disappeared. Luke looked back across the fields, to the ridge behind him, and wondered if the wind had carried the scent of smoke and taint as far as the camp yet. Was Aedan waging an inner battle or an outer one? The taint would pull at him, entice him most horribly. He'd want to follow it to the source and eradicate it so that it no longer prickled his skin and threatened his people. Luke could only hope that this was not all part of a more elaborate plan, that these ghouls operated somewhat mindlessly and alone, that they were not accompanied by bandits and rogues - that they did not plot.

Sounds from within the shed drew his attention and Luke winced as he heard the telltale sound of swords meeting flesh. He imagined he could hear that final exhalation, the odd sigh of resignation, but he did not. Instead a high pitched whine rent the air, quickly silenced by another sword. The young Warden closed his eyes. They had been people once, probably the family that farmed this land. Ben and Gerard had done the right thing. They would have been suffering and the tainted plague had no cure.

Besides the wind and the crows, the farm now lay still and silent and the Wardens crept forward again until Kyle hissed. Gerard took one more step and yelled as a trap closed about his ankle, the steel teeth grinding into his armoured leg, screeching against the metal as he tilted forward. Ben dropped down beside him and put a hand on one 'jaw' of the trap and began prying it open. Luke bent down to help on the other side and they managed to pull Gerard's leg out. Blood trickled from beneath his armoured plates and he could put no weight on the leg and sat heavily to unbuckle the plate while Anders crouched beside him, ready to heal what he could.

Gerard ground his teeth and swore, "Andraste's flaming sword." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Ben glanced about, his eyes haunted now. "I do not like this," he murmured softly. All nodded in agreement. Bodies in sheds, slaughtered livestock and traps. "We have been drawn here; this has been laid out for us." The senior Warden glanced back up the hill, his expression mirroring Luke's earlier thoughts. His gaze then dropped to Luke's. "We need to stay and sort this; we cannot have ghouls or worse at our backs."

Luke nodded in understanding. They all wanted to charge back up that hill, away from the mess and towards their commander, former or not. But they could not, for two reasons. The taint plucked at them, they had to do their duty, and because as Ben said, they could not leave this at their backs. Whatever the game, they had to play it hand by hand.

Gerard's ankle bone proved sound, though the noise he made as Anders tended it might have suggested otherwise. Luke thanked the Maker for that small luck, Anders could knit a bone, but the warrior would barely be able to fight on the weakened ankle, not for a while, and he'd need rest.

The young Warden stood and surveyed the scene, looking for signs their commotion had summoned their enemy. Nothing stirred. He did not find the lack of sound comforting. He couldn't help but remember the farm he'd grown up on, laying in ruins like this one, and he couldn't help recalling the village where he'd become tainted, quiet like this one, but for the smell and the absence of proper life.

Kyle scouted the area for more traps, disabling two of the same device, before they reached the next shed. From there a space of fifty feet lay between them and the farmhouse. Any soldier hated crossing such an open space, but they would have to do so, all of them. In the light of day, any ghouls remaining would be holed up inside the farmhouse and they dared not wait until dark to draw them out.

Rounding the rough corner of the shed, they stepped forward, preparing to run the gauntlet. Luke caught a flicker of movement behind one of the windows and he raised his hand for attention from the company then pointed towards the window. As one they watched dark hands raise the sash and then disappear. As one they waited, stupidly, as arrows flew from the gap and into their number.

Gerard raised his shield and they all formed behind him, as best they could while dashing for the cover of the shed again. Luke estimated there were two archers. Two archers would likely have the support of at least four other men. And then there were the ghouls. Arrows clattered about the ground and thunked into the half rotted and charred wood of the shed they crouched behind. Kyle pulled an arrow from his quiver, knocked it against his bowstring and, leaning out, he let it loose before ducking back.

"I could shoot arrows in through that window all day and not hit anything, the angle is too acute," he said.

"I could throw a fire ball," Anders suggested. "There is not much left of that house anyway."

"But who is within?" Ben questioned.

Luke felt there would be no one worth saving, or he hoped there would be no one of the family left. Sickness swirled in his gut as he realised he had just wished an entire family dead. "I think you found the family already?"

Gerard said, "Aye, but no children. What farm has no children?"

Oh, holy Maker. Luke had to swallow against the bile in the back of his throat. Why? What depraved notions did these bandits have and why would they hold children as hostages? At once the answer clicked – they were after Aedan and everyone knew of the Warden Commander's fondness for children.

Luke could not help the glance over his shoulder at the ridge behind him – what was happening through the woods? Were Aedan and Leliana still safe?


	22. Warning

Warning

Aedan watched the Wardens leave and noted Luke's hesitation. This would be hard for the young man, he knew. It was hard for him. He wanted to go with the Wardens, the taint called him, the urge to track it and eradicate the source thrummed through his veins. The need to protect his son tugged at his heart. But he dared not leave Leliana alone. He belonged at her side – as her husband and protector. He wanted to be with her and for once, despite the call, he indulged himself. He put his family first.

Slipping his arm about Leliana's waist, he bent forward to touch his lips to her hair. She smelled of wood smoke and dry grass, the outdoors. She leaned lightly into him and they stood wordless and together, listening to their children behind them in the tent. Rory and Grace were quiet and he hoped they might fall back asleep and remain undisturbed until after dawn. He wondered if they should be inside the tent with them, if it would give the illusion they were unprepared, but decided that if anyone watched the camp, they had already seen the Wardens depart. So he remained where he was, beside his wife, and though their posture looked relaxed, Aedan knew she stood as alert as he, waiting, ready.

He could not sense the taint back at the camp, not really. He thought he could because the feeling of it lingered in his gut and on his skin. Zevran lurked somewhere about them, he'd seen the small communication between the elven rogue and Luke. A part of him had wanted to urge Zevran to stay with Luke, to protect him, but he trusted Zevran's judgment. If the former assassin felt his place was here, then his place was here. He knew Leliana was also aware of the other rogue. They did not speak of him or to him, however, knowing that silence would be his best cover.

His thoughts drifted for a while, over their final week in Denerim - the work he had accomplished, his renewed closeness with Leliana, his altered relationship with Luke. He didn't dwell overlong on any one thing; he more sought to divert his mind from what might be happening through the woods. What awaited the Wardens? The taint had been faint – did that mean distance or a trace or only a few of whatever was out there? Was it ghouls again? Too late, his thoughts had focused and his head inevitably turned to follow the trail, eyes peering through the greying darkness.

Beside him, Leliana murmured, "You had a dream…"

"Yes." He turned to look at her.

Aedan had dreamt of Cian twice since leaving Orlais. Once in Highever, a small, short dream in which he'd found himself in the centre of the same maze which had haunted his nightmares in the dungeon beneath Val Royeaux. He panicked immediately and ran and then a small hand found his and a soft voice called to him. Looking down he'd seen Cian standing there, looking up at him with his own eyes and as always he been perplexed by the sight of his own face, younger, boyish, but not innocent. The boy smiled at him and said, "You are happy." Then he faded away.

He hadn't felt happy in his dream, but when he awoke he felt the truth of the small boy's words. He was happy, he felt well and they were due to depart Highever in less than a week. He was optimistic about his future.

"I was in the maze again," he told Leliana now. "In one of the turns, just walking. I don't know why he chooses the maze, but it is better than the fade, I suppose." Aedan had no doubt Cian invited him to the maze, that the rows of dark hedge were his construction, a place only people Cian invited could access. The maze reminded him of the dungeon, but he wondered if Cian saw it less as a trap and more as a hideout. Perhaps the youthful side of him showed there, the boy, not the old soul within. "He looked worried; he said he'd seen trouble. I asked him what and he shook his head and said we'd be alright, but that we had to look out for Grace." Looking into Leliana's blue eyes, now wide with concern, he said, "I don't understand his connection with Grace, Leli. Rory, yes. They… they share blood." _His_. "Do you think it means…"

"Yes," Leliana answered and he saw the worry in her eyes. They had both suspected, he knew that, her dreams and her odd connection with Rory and Cian. Grace was different. They did not know her parentage and probably never would, but the stirrings of magic often skipped generations or showed themselves in the children of perfectly ordinary people.

Taking her hand, he murmured, "We have time yet and things have changed. We will not lose her entirely."

The day crept upon them slowly as if in no hurry to reveal the woods, the shadows and what might lie between them. Birds began soft twittering and the grass moved quietly beneath the breeze and after she ducked back into the tent, he heard Leliana talking quietly with the children. Considering his children, Aedan again counted himself a lucky, lucky man. Rory and Grace had survived the last attack unscathed and if he had to hover over them and take a hundred arrows, they would this one too. But what amazed him was their quiet acceptance of what they had seen and of the lessons Leliana taught them. She had started showing them how to hide themselves in shadow and light as a game and Rory had immediately dispelled the illusion by asking, "Should we hide if the bad men come again?"

The look on Leliana's face haunted him, added another layer of guilt to the thick layer he'd been trying to shed. He still felt it, the guilt, but he tried not to act on it, or because of it. He awoke every morning and thanked the Maker for what he had and then he got on with what had to be done, gladly and with purpose.

The edges of the world continued to lighten and the taint finally reached for him again, the scent of it carried on the wind along with charred wood, rot and something else, something he did not want to recognise, but did: death.

A sharp but familiar sound drew his attention then, and Aedan glanced towards it, a ripple of air showing him where Zevran stood, the odd noise being his approximation of a bird call. He meant it as an alert and the voices in the tent dropped away as Aedan turned slowly on his heel, scanning the woods and then the clearing that led back towards the road. Behind him ran a small stream, sluggish in the autumn, almost soundless. As he looked towards the stream he caught a flash and then the arrows started and he ducked. When he looked back towards Zevran's last location, he saw nothing and sensed nothing and knew the rogue had moved towards the source of the arrows.

His first thought was not a new one. _Why?_ It wasn't even unique to this situation. He often asked why before unsheathing his blades. Despite the number of men and monsters he had killed, he never accepted the task without question. Now he wanted to know why he was being hunted specifically. Irrationally it felt as if the Order would not let him go, rationally he knew something else lay behind these attacks. Or someone else.

He felt useless crouching there, blades in hand, but refused to abandon Leliana, Rory and Grace. If they wanted him or his family, they would have to advance.

Leliana emerged from the tent, bow in hand and he stood up and to the side, slightly before her, as she took aim at the trees beyond the stream, letting loose arrow after arrow in return fire. By chance she hit a rogue cloaked in shadow, the figure appearing twenty yards before them, a quivering shaft lodged in his chest. He moved on towards them and Leliana shifted her focus back to the tree line, leaving Aedan to engage. He did so, finally making noise as he let out a fierce yell that seemed to stun the approaching rogue and stop him in his tracks. Raising his blades, Aedan charged, furious and unafraid. The rogue took one look at him coming and tried a feint, but his wits seemed addled and he did not dodge back the other direction which left him directly in the path of the warrior's sword. Aedan sliced down, hard and deep, nearly taking the man's arm off. The rogue made an attempt to parry with his dagger, but found it knocked aside in a furious swipe. Another arrow whistled between them, finding the man's throat and carrying him backwards to the ground. Without pause, Aedan stepped over the supine form, knowing the rogue still breathed, but would not for much longer, and sought a new target, catching a shadow to his right as yet another man crossed the stream and stepped into the broadening light of day.

This man met him directly, twin daggers raised and poised. Aedan stepped up and they clashed, blade ringing against steel as his sword twisted over and around the oncoming dagger, his own shorter blade thrusting the other dagger aside. He turned as he withdrew his blades, ducking low to sweep his sword out in an arc, the long length of dragonbone cleaving the back of leather clad legs. The keen edge of his blade parted the leather and sliced flesh to the bone, instantly crippling the rogue. The man crumpled, dropping to his knees and Aedan drew his dagger over the back of the neck as he stood and surged forward, his momentum already carrying him to his next target. Flinching, he moved out of the path of one arrow and into another, the barbed head nicking his armoured shoulder before dropping away. He did not concern himself with arrows coming from behind. He and Leliana had fought together before, she knew how he moved, she would shoot around him.

A dagger caught him in the side and Aedan grunted softly as he turned to find another dusky figure beside him, withdrawing a wet and shiny blade. The dagger had only just penetrated his armour, the wound just deep enough to catch his attention and probably leave yet another scar across his ribs. He brought his sword up and across, aiming for the neck. The rogue spun away from him, leaving his blade to whistle through the air and Aedan gave chase, stepping after him and turning in an attempt to catch him again. Another arrow from the enemy caught him, sneaking into the gap between this armoured gloves and shoulder, grazing his arm. Another of Leliana's arrows slipped between them, inflicting almost the same wound on the other man. A second shadow appeared to his other side and Aedan swept his blades out wide, attempting to catch both men before he stepped back, away from retaliatory strikes.

When a third shadow slipped into focus, a quick knot of apprehension tightened in his gut until he saw the flash of blonde hair and a flurry of blades that cut one rogue down from behind. Aedan stepped into the other, striking out in a series of blows designed to knock the man backwards and down he went, to the ground. Leaning forward, Aedan thrust downwards, through the studded leather chest piece, his blade scraping against rivets, then bone until it met the ground beneath. He had to stand on the rogue's chest to yank it back out, the dull red of his blade stained darker now with blood. He and Zevran exchanged a quick nod, then the elf flickered from sight and Aedan stepped over a body.

The morning now smelt of disturbed earth and blood and the sounds of battle wrecked the peace. Adrenaline moved blood swiftly through his veins and Aedan moved easily, every strike a remembered and well practiced maneuver, every step part of the forms he practiced almost daily. Despite the closeness of death, he felt alive and useful.

Arrows still flew in both directions and he could not dodge them all. Most pinged off his armour, but another finally caught him, glancing off his cheek, drawing a furrow through his skin. Aedan hissed at the quick pain of it and crashed through the bracken lining the stream, heading directly for the archers now, hoping that Leliana and Zevran caught any more shadows heading towards the tent. Why, he asked again, but this time he did not seek to divine their purpose. This time he wanted to know why there were so many of them. Logistically, his enemy had had weeks to plan this attack – in other words, they had known he would be heading to Gwaren and they had known approximately when he would leave. Neither piece of information was any great secret, not to someone who wanted to know.

Boots splashing through the still, muddy water, he charged up the slope, blades pointing forward. He saw one of the archers and knowing he'd take a hit, went for him, sucking in a breath as an arrow punctured his chest plate and pierced his flesh. Dark eyes widened as sword and dagger met at the throat and the archer fell, his head nearly severed as Aedan drew his blades apart again in a decisive sweep and turned in the direction of the next man, a smaller rogue with a smaller bow who turned and eyed him in fear and wonder before he attempted to run.

Aedan gave chase for a full minute before he stopped, stunned by his own stupidity. He'd allowed himself to become separated from the rest of his party. A soldier never ran off alone, even to give chase. A leader never abandoned his company. The personal nature of this attack had clouded his judgment and he tried to shake it off and turned, ready to run back to the camp. He needed to cross that stream now with intense urgency and his back itched with the feeling he was watched, followed. The feeling persisted until his boots once again splashed through water and anxiety clawed at his gut. No arrows chased him and only silence seemed to follow. His folly became clear as soon as he saw the camp. Leliana had dropped her bow and fought with daggers, Zevran at her side. Four men circled them.

Not for the first time he wished he had talent with a bow. From here he could assist immediately instead of wasting time running back through the stream and crossing the ground between he and his wife. He let out another bellow, hoping to distract the rogues circling Leliana and Zevran. Only one man turned and his expression showed no surprise, only calculation.

Zevran engaged one of the men and Leliana another, the third took Leliana to be the weaker foe and moved towards her back and the fourth, the one that had turned, moved towards him in a clear show of strategy. Divide and conquer. Aedan refused to take the bait. As the man approached, twin daggers catching the meager sunlight angling through the trees, he barreled past him, using his superior size and armoured weight to knock the man aside. The rogue stumbled and fell back, but did not hit the ground. Aedan ignored him and ran straight for the man at Leliana's back.

He yelled again, knowing he wasn't going to make it in time, his throat ached from the force of his yell, and in desperation he called for his friend. "Zev!" He knew Zevran was aware of the entire battle, of the placement of the men, of the blades arcing towards Leliana's back. He knew Zevran wouldn't get there in time either.

The wickedly long dagger plunged downward and missed, Leliana dodging to the side, taking the man at her front with her. The shorter dagger arced upwards and caught her, the dodge expected and met. Aedan's yell turned into a scream of sorts as he watched the blade whisk back away from his wife, shining with her blood. The ever present well of anger in his gut unfolded instantly, engulfing him, and though he registered the blade slicing across the back of his legs, catching buckles and loosening his armour, he paid no attention to it in his headlong rush to get to Leliana's side.

His sword whirled outwards, all of his fury behind the strike, and he caught the rogue across the middle, his blade slicing through leather and flesh before catching bone, knocking the dusky figure from its feet. Aedan stepped forward, prepared to finish the job, his sword raised again to thrust downwards, but his leg plate fell off at that moment and he tripped, dropping to one knee instead.

Control began to slip through his fingers, he wanted to hold on, he needed to hold on. He could not let the fury take him; he had vowed never to succumb to it again. No sense existed within a berserk rage. He felt no pain and no compassion, he become possessed of one urge only: to kill. While a rage lent him the strength and fortitude to make it through a battle that might otherwise best him, he struck out indiscriminately, killing everything in his path. Now, he barely had seconds, not even seconds, to reach for his control. He used one of those seconds to assess the battlefield – as a rational man does, as a soldier is supposed to, as a leader should. The man below him lived and had his daggers up and ready to defend. The man behind him had his daggers pointed downwards, ready to attack. Zevran had bested his foe and moved towards Leliana and she still exchanged strikes with the rogue before her, obviously weakened by the wound at her back.

Ignoring the man below him, knowing it would take the wounded rogue longer to get to his feet, Aedan thrust himself upwards and turned to meet the man at his back. He turned to the left rather than the right, knowing he'd not get his longer blade between them. His dagger drove forward and out, meeting one of the rogue's daggers. He ignored the other, knowing he'd not catch it, prepared to take yet another wound in favour of letting his sword swing free, unhindered and out wide. He funneled his rage into the strike, drawing on his control, using it rather than shunning it, and the keen edge of dragonbone bit into the shoulder of the rogue at the same time as the rogue's dagger pierced his armour again. Aedan's strike was the more powerful and it pulled the dagger away from his breastplate, the smaller blade dropping from useless fingers. The rogue stayed on his feet, however, and brought his other blade back up, ready to strike again. The man behind him would be nearly standing again...

Then it happened. Movement to the side, away from Leliana and Zevran, caught his attention as Grace slipped from the tent and darted towards the woods, calling, "Luke!"

"No!" Aedan roared.

Leliana screamed, "Grace!" and stepped towards the little girl before stumbling and dropping to her knees, the skirt of her leathers and the back of her legs stained with blood.

Zevran stepped up and unleashed a furious flurry of blows at the rogue still standing between them.

The presence at Aedan's back shifted and he knew that rogue had seen the small girl and picked his next target.

The man before him took the opening offered by Aedan's distraction faded into the shadow.

Maker! He had to decide his course... stay and protect Leliana or chase after Grace? Cian's warning tickled at his memory – they would be alright – they had to watch after Grace. Were the words a warming or another distraction? Had it just been a dream? No, the coincidences hit him too sharply; he had to believe Cian had summoned him or visited him. Could he trust the words of a five year old boy? He had to, Maker, he had to.

His decision made, Aedan ran after Grace.

"Stay with Leli," he called as he ran past Zevran.

It tore his heart to run past his wife, seeing the blood on her legs and the pallor in her cheeks. He wanted stop, he wanted to fall to his knees beside her hold her, help her, tend her injuries. He nearly did, he so very nearly did, his footsteps faltering briefly as he swept past. Then he heeded the words of his strange son and he ran after Grace.

The small girl had made it to the woods and he could not see her between the trees. "Grace!" he called again. A flash of light curls and he saw her, dodging around a tree. Then he saw the dusky figure of one of the rogues appear behind her and reach forward. Grace dodged the grasping hand and ducked behind another tree. Aedan made for the rogue first, letting out another war cry, the sound hurting his throat now. The rogue turned at the fury in his voice, eyes widening slightly before blades rose up again to meet his charge. Aedan drove forward with both his sword and dagger. The rogue deflected the dagger but was powerless to stop his sword. The gaping wound in his side slowed him and he could not turn either the long blade or himself in time. The length of dragonbone slid through the man, skewering him. lifting his leg, Aedan kicked the man backwards and off his blade. He did not pause to watch the rogue slump to the ground. He turned and ran after Grace again.

"Grace!" he called once more.

She turned. "Daddy!" she cried. Pointing deeper into the trees she said, "Luke is hurt, daddy."

For a moment Aedan felt frozen by a sense of failure. Leliana lay bleeding in the camp, Grace had nearly escaped his grasp and Luke was apparently hurt. He wasn't protecting his family! The moment of stillness allowed the fatigue of battle to catch up with him and he realised he had no idea how wounded he was. Pain pricked at him from all over his body and a quick glance showed bloodied stains everywhere – some his, some that of his enemies.

Light and darkness flared together, almost obscuring his vision as another sharp pain pierced his back and Grace screamed. The final rogue. Thrusting his weariness aside, Aedan turned. He tried to draw in a breath and spots danced before his eyes as pain flared over his left shoulder. The rogue's blade had slid between shoulder an breast plate and pierced his lung. The leather clad figure danced backwards and Aedan stumbled forwards, sword raised. The urge to lie down and give up swept through him, stronger with every pained breath, but he did not. Aedan never gave up. Never. His old friends, rage and fury, would not let him, and because he loved his family too much to die without fighting for them until his last breath.

Using his rage again, funneling it into his sword, Aedan exchanged two strikes and parries with the injured rogue before managing to get his dagger in there to finish the man off with a quick upwards thrust through the sternum and into the heart. He didn't have the strength left to kick the man away from his blade, he had to let the body fall away.

Turning, he looked for his daughter. "Grace!" he called, his voice a bare rasp.

When her head ducked out from behind a tree, the relief nearly finished him. His legs trembled with it. Within two strides he reached her, then he bent forward and scooped her from the ground and clutched her to his filthy, blood stained breast plate.

"Luke," she whispered.

Aedan closed his eyes a moment in an effort to ward off the dizziness. "He'll be alright, Grace. Cian said so." Let it be true, Maker, let it be true. Opening his eyes, he continued. "Let's go see mummy and then we'll all go find Luke. Together."

Grace nodded soberly. "Alright," she said, putting faith in the brother she had only met in her dreams.

If Grace believed, he could too. He had little choice. Aedan put his trust squarely into the hands of his children and turned back towards the camp.


	23. The Farmhouse

The Farmhouse

Windows and gaps opened out from every side of the farmhouse, they would be seen, no matter which direction they approached. Of the four walls, only the one facing them appeared intact. The left side of the house might have housed the kitchen, all that remained was the chimney and piles of burnt wood. To the right was the front porch, intact, but blackened. From the ridge the house had appeared all but a ruin, so they assumed the back side must look similar to the others. The bandits and ghouls had to be assembled in one room and, more likely, the cellar. It would not be an easy approach and it would not be a clean fight. They were all aware of that without being reminded or told.

Ben and Gerard, the two most senior Wardens, conversed quietly for a while, the sound of their voices interrupted now and then by arrows flying past, or hitting the dirt beside them, and the intermittent calls of the circling crows. Luke crouched behind them and divided his attention between the Warden's plans and the distant ridge. Anxiety curled in his gut, which was nothing new, he often felt nervous before combat and he knew it was natural. Every soldier felt it. They had walked into a trap and now they had to figure a way out of it. It had been cleverly set. If Aedan came down the hill with them, he'd be compelled to go inside that farmhouse. Luke had no doubt more bandits had been waiting on the other side of the camp. The backup plan, the other part of the attack. Either they'd have the Warden to themselves or his family. How many circled the camp though, and would Aedan, Leli and Zev be able to hold them off? Maker, he hoped so.

"The enemy has already divided us," Ben was saying. "Let us take it one step further."

Luke turned his attention back to the impromptu strategy meeting.

"There are two archers and five of us. We more heavily armed Wardens will make our approach from here." Ben indicated himself and Gerard. "Luke, you will take Kyle and Anders behind us and around to the back of the house." Luke glanced at his charges, the archer and the mage. "We will meet at the front door and head inside together," Ben finished.

All the Wardens nodded their assent. It was as good a plan as any.

"Once we are inside," Ben hesitated and sighed, his gaze dropping to his boots a moment. When he looked up again, Luke recognised the look on his face. He looked like a Warden. "We'll do our best, as always, but... we have to be Wardens first."

To a man, they all nodded. They would try to save the children, if there were any inside. But their priority had to be killing the ghouls and finding any amulets, eliminating the threat.

"Ben." Luke spoke softly but surely. "We need answers. If we can manage to not kill everyone..."

"I agree. Try disabling moves on the bandits, but don't take unnecessary risks. Oh, and if you manage to get one down, disarm him immediately. Apparently they are fond of taking their own lives."

Another nod and they all moved to shift various weapons and make ready for their advance.

They moved out. Gerard held up his shield as he and Ben ran towards the onslaught of arrows and Luke waited until they were ten feet out before leading Kyle and Anders off to the side. They were betting on there being no more archers, that arrows would not fly from the other sides of the house. They would just have to wait and see. His view shimmered a little and he realised Anders had placed a spell over him, an anti magic ward. It wouldn't stop arrows from hitting him, but it lent him a feeling of security none the less. It might be protection against surprises.

"If something more tangible than magic should fly towards is, I will shield you and stand behind you clutching my robe, Luke," Anders said as they ran. Luke nodded in vigorous agreement. He'd been used as a shield before.

Two arrows streaked their way, both missing, as the archers realised the Wardens had split. Then the enemy concentrated on their most immediate threat: the two heavily armoured and armed Wardens heading directly towards the window and front of the house. Not pausing to watch, Luke rounded the first corner and ran past the burnt out remains of the kitchen. Nothing stirred across the floor, but the stench of the taint reached for him and seemed to grip him more strongly as they closed the distance between themselves and the ghouls. Oddly, cooking odors intermingled with the charred wood, turning his stomach. It smelt wrong. But his job was not to stand there sniffing burnt wood. With nothing moving, Luke cautiously led them around the back to the side of the house they'd not been able to see. It looked much like the other side, half intact and with one window facing the rest of the farm.

Here was the weak point in their strategy. Where the archers running to the front to hold off the warriors or had they moved to this side to cut off the other party?

Only one way to find out. Luke beckoned his small party forward and the arrows started. They had nowhere to retreat to, no cover, they simply had to run. Luke felt the impact as the close range missiles dinged off his armour. One scraped past his light helm, causing him to duck his head forward. He did his best to shield Anders and he tried not to worry about Kyle. The rogue was light on his feet and could likely dodge more quickly than he, should he have to. Anders did not resort to shielding them and they rounded the corner to find Ben and Gerard already engaged in battle. Luke had heard the ring of steel as they approached.

Kyle and Anders circled wide, moving away from the porch, and Luke entered the fray, sword and dagger held high. One of the four bandits before the other two warriors turned to face him and Luke winced at sight of a shield. The wider variety of weapons in evidence suggested a mercenary band and not a ragtag assortment of rogues. More clues towards organization.

Backing up a few steps, Luke drew his target away from the knot near the door. Arrows sought and found the warrior immediately, Kyle waiting for an open target. Anders was throwing arcane bolts into the mix. Between them they would steadily weaken these men until all were cut down.

Luke dodged a shield bash and spun low, seeking to hamstring the warrior, knowing he'd have to cut through heavier armour first. Standing, he danced backwards again, further drawing the man into the open. His tactic worked as the space between them filled with another two bandits, just emerged from the house and giving Kyle and Anders fresh targets of their own. Now would come the balancing act – keeping the bandits here and engaged, away from the ranged Wardens.

The shield came for him again and this time he dodged into the sword. The blade delivered a solid blow to his side, screeching against his armour as the other warrior looked for that gap near his belt. Luke pressed forward, inside the embrace of the shield and found the same gap on the other man with his dagger, stabbing upwards, then withdrawing quickly, stepping backwards again. Their swords clashed and Luke tried to twist his about the other, but failed, his opponent demonstrating superior strength. He stepped back again, then moved to the side, against the wall of the house, away from Kyle and Anders. The mage took his cue and let loose a cone of cold, freezing the three bandits in place. Shaking of the chill blast of air, Luke put all of his strength into a strike against the first warrior, shattering the icy form. Watching a man crumble into chunks and shards of ice never failed to horrify him. It seemed worse than death somehow to become somewhat incorporeal. Only one spell terrified him more: walking bomb. He'd never seen it, but he'd heard the stories.

Stepping forward carefully through the icy debris, Luke glanced to his side. Ben had downed one man and had moved to the next. Gerard had two rogues on him, both to the front. One looked heavily wounded and would not survive another strike. An arcane bolt fizzled through and took that rogue down, leaving Gerard with only the one. Luke had his two frozen targets. Was that all? Their fight blocked the door, but where were the archers? Were more mercenaries waiting inside? Where were the ghouls? Nudging his questions aside for now, Luke crossed his blades in front of him and swept them out, catching both of his foes, shattering neither. He wounded both, however, and he turned to face one directly, the more heavily armoured, and prepared to strike again. The familiar dance began as Luke exchanged strike for parry and parry for strike. These men had skill and perhaps the promise of gold on their side; they were good. But they did not have a mage. Luke felt his stamina flagging and then lightness lifted his limbs once more. Sizzling pops surrounded in the air with regular frequency as Anders spread his spells about, alternately helping and harming. Kyle's arrows found their way over and between, pinning one man in pace while he dealt with the other. Luke aimed for grievous and crippling wounds where he could and when he finally downed the second warrior, the man lay there alive and stunned. Luke wasted precious time leaning down to search the man's body for daggers, pulled out three and tossed them away. A fireball erupted in the vicinity of the discarded weapons and Luke grinned.

The pinned rogue had pulled his leg free, but Gerard had him in hand. A shield bash to the side of the head and the man sprawled on the ground. They disarmed him.

"Anders" Gerard called. "Can you..."

A force field appeared around the two men and Gerard and Luke pressed towards the door. A huge figure barreled through then, a giant of a man swinging the biggest hammer Luke had ever seen. In one of those flashes of oddness, Luke thought – Oghren would love that hammer! – then he ducked to the side. He didn't have a shield, Gerard did.

Gerard met the strike and the hammer rang loudly off the shield, the sound like a gong. Luke moved to cut away armour and Ben swung his great sword from the other side. Three on one – five on one. Arrows found their target and arcane bolts crackled through the air. The giant, while formidable, dropped.

Gerard moved inside first, Ben followed. Luke paused in the doorway and looked inside the house. The taint hit him like a solid wall and he gagged. The source lay at his feet, two dead ghouls. Or they appeared to be dead – they didn't move. For a minute he panicked, thinking they'd been lured down here by two dead ghouls. But as he reached out he felt the stronger source. There were more ghouls, many more, under the house. Another trick then? And where were the archers? The shaded interior of the house looked somewhat like the ruined kitchen. Light splashed onto the floor from where the kitchen had been, two strong beams to either side of the fireplace. The windows both stood empty. The furniture was lying about tossed and broken and there were a confusing amount of corpses. Two more family members seemed to be slumped in one corner and two leather clad figures in another. The smell of all the bodies was nearly as overwhelming as the taint. Luke shifted his shoulders to stop the creeping feeling down his spine and grimaced at the grit of sweat and grime of battle at the back of his neck.

"Looks like dissention in the ranks? Or the farmers got the better of their scouts..." Ben said quietly.

Gerard echoed Luke's thoughts. "Where are the damned archers?"

"Crap!"

Luke leaned back outside the door in time to see another fireball erupt, catching one leather clad figure and tossing the other aside. The archers. They had left the house and circled around. Thank the Maker they hadn't made it out there sooner. Kyle had an arrow hanging from his shoulder and Anders moved to dislodge it, his lips moving in a chant as he did so. He fussed at Kyle's shoulder as the rogue kept watch for more tricks.

"Anders and Kyle found the archers," Luke reported.

A sort of grin crept across Gerard's face. Ben had moved into the room, to the most shadowed corner. He pointed to the floor. "Here."

A trap door to the cellar. Luke shivered, knowing what awaited them down there. Ghouls, children, memories. Without knowing, he stepped backwards and connected with something warm and solid.

"Oof."

Turning, he saw Anders standing behind him, Kyle at his elbow. "You going to let us in?" the mage asked.

Luke stepped forward again and let the other two Wardens into the house.

Ben looked up at the assembled Wardens. "Gerard and Anders with me. Luke, you and Kyle stay up here, keep an eye on the prisoners." Luke turned to look at the force field on the porch, it still shimmered above the two bandits. "We'll call for you if we need you," Ben continued and Luke turned back to see the Warden hesitating a moment. Then he added, "... or... come get us if there's just altogether too much yelling." A wry grin crossed his face.

Nodding, Luke stepped aside to allow Anders to pass. He felt somewhat torn and wondered at Ben's strategy. Did he think the cellar might be too close to his own past, that he might not cope with it? Or did he merely want a guard up top? Either way, Luke accepted his assignment readily. He wasn't sure he could cope with the cellar. He'd like to think he could, but thinking and doing were often two very separate things. The taint rolled out in an almost visible cloud as they pulled the door back and the Wardens descended quickly. Luke heard the battle begin, the distinctive moans and wretched sounds of the ghouls, the scuffle of feat across the floor, the unmistakable wet thud of blades meeting flesh. He didn't realise he'd closed his eyes, that he'd been trying to block out the memory of his childhood, until his eyes blinked open again, his attention pulled back by an awful whining sound.

Kyle stiffened next to him and Luke turned to offer a commiserating look and saw an arrow shuddering in rogue's shoulder, deeply embedded. Another arrow streaked through the doorway, finding its way directly into Luke's stunned figure, slipping neatly between his pauldron and breastplate, through his flesh, between rids and into his chest. The sharp pain stunned him.

Luke had suffered many injuries in his short life, most of them in battle against the darkspawn, but none had been a precisely aimed arrow to the chest. He found he couldn't draw a breath and it felt as if air leaked from him along with the blood. His ears rang oddly and he didn't realise he'd stepped forward until the doorframe connected heavily with his shoulder. With a grunt he righted himself and got through the door before ducking behind one of the bodies on the porch, taking himself out of the line of fire. Glancing back over his shoulder he saw Kyle had dropped to a crouch. The rogue looked as pale as he felt and he fumbled for his quiver, his arm already weakened by his previous injury. Looking down, Luke reached for the arrow in his chest. He touched it and a wave of nausea and dizziness passed through him, making him groan. He wanted to break off the shaft, but just touching the arrow hurt too much. Two arrows passed over his head, thunking into the wood behind him and Luke looked up to find the archer. There, some distance from the house. Luke could not believe the man still stood. He looked half charred and his bow was also blackened. He looked like something out of a nightmare. And still he managed to sling more arrows in their direction.

Panic welled inside Luke. He knew he could not close the distance between his current position and the archer, he didn't even think he could stand again. Numbness and heaviness seemed to be pulling at him at the same time and his breath sounded weird, raspy and hollow and it hurt, it all hurt. A return arrow finally came from Kyle, then another. The first pinned the enemy archer to the ground, the second inflicted a precise wound, the shaft sticking straight out of the blackened chest piece and carrying the archer backwards, awkwardly, against his own leg. Luke didn't think he'd be getting back up this time.

The force field covering the two injured warriors had dropped and one of them began to drag himself towards a fallen sword. Luke crawled after him. He heard a gasp behind him as Kyle emerged from the door and tried to use his badly injured arm to nock another arrow into place. Then the archer dropped his bow and pulled out his dagger.

"I can't shoot anymore, Luke," he said, his tone apologetic.

"You could when it counted, Kyle," Luke responded, glad the enemy archer had been cut down before Kyle lost his ability to use his bow. Nodding towards the warrior dragging himself towards the sword he rasped, "And now we have to stop the enemy from killing himself."

Luke turned to crawl forward again and a wave of dizziness washed through him. "Ugh," he said as he slumped to the side.

Kyle reached for the arrow and Luke thought he might scream. "No," he gasped. "Don't touch it." He blinked and seconds seemed to pass before he could open his eyes again. "Stop him."

His fellow Warden hesitated and then moved forward. Angling his head forward, Luke saw Kyle kick the sword aside and then boot the warrior in the head. The warrior slumped back to the ground. Time seemed to be slowing down and Luke's eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Bitter fluid flowed past his lips and he opened his eyes again. Kyle had returned to his side and helped him drink a poultice. The pain eased a little, but the numbness and heaviness remained. "Tired," he muttered.

"Anders will be here soon, Luke, hold on," Kyle said.

The archer looked towards the door and Luke slowly followed his gaze. He could hear the fight in the cellar and he could still feel the taint. Could he hear yelling or was that just the whining or were his ears ringing.

"Yelling," he said. "You should go."

Kyle shook his head. "The sounds below have quieted somewhat."

Luke could feel the darkness pulling at him like a heavy wave. He didn't know if it was unconsciousness or death. Either way he didn't want to give into it. He tried hard to remain present and awake, but every breath hurt and did not seem to contain enough air. In an effort to stay awake he thought about his family. He thought of his sister Brenda first, oddly, though he'd not seen her in five years. Then he thought of his new brother and sister, and of the brother he'd never met, the mysterious Cian. _He said we'd be alright – but maybe not Grace?_ What did that mean? Where Aedan and Leli alright? Thinking became as hard as breathing... He closed his eyes.


	24. Unraveling

Unraveling

The weight of Grace pulled against his injuries. Aedan honestly had no idea how many he had, but this he'd become used to. When he lost his control he often fought until he could barely stand, unaware of how many times he'd been knocked to the ground, of how many arrows hung from his armour and his skin, of how many dents and rents buckled the plates across his legs and chest. But usually he fought alongside a mage. They had one for every patrol, one for each team, and all of them knew at least one healing spell.

The deep wound in the back of his shoulder troubled him the most. He carried Grace on his opposite side, but knew that if he ran into a trap, if another enemy lurked behind the trees, he'd have to drop her to fight. He couldn't raise his sword arm anymore; he'd spent the last of his rage killing the rogue who had injured him. All he had left now was his desire to live, his need to protect his family.

The wood lay oddly quiet around him, as if it had not played host to a chase and the death of two men. The day continued to brighten, the sunshine lending an air of peaceful promise, as if his wife did not lay injured back at the camp. The complete indifference of nature to the trials of men never failed to amaze him.

The trees thinned before him once more and he broke back through their cover and into the camp. He blinked at the oddness of the scene. But for the bodies littering the ground, they looked like a family at breakfast. Leliana sat before the tent, Rory in her lap and Zevran crouched behind her, tending her wound. Aedan did not even flinch at the sight of another man's hands beneath his wife's armour. The rogue had buckles unfastened and held a blood soaked rag to the wound at her back. Grace whimpered in his arms and Aedan set her down and touched her cheek. "She is alright, Grace." Maker, he hoped he spoke the truth. That Leliana sat upright and had Rory in her lap was a good sign.

The little girl looked wide eyed between him and Leliana before nodding and moving towards her brother. Rory reached out his hand to Grace and she sat on the ground next to him taking his small hand in hers. They were so very close, his two youngest children. He wondered if they would always remain so.

Aedan knelt down beside Leliana and took her hand. "Leli."

"I'm alright," she said softly.

She did not look alright, she looked pale and in pain and just so pale. Aedan tried to look stoic, but found it very hard. This wasn't a fellow Warden with an injury, this was his wife. Pulling himself together he leaned around her to see what Zev was doing. The elf had finished cleaning the wound and it looked as if the blood flow had mostly stopped. As he moved the cloth aside, Aedan saw the deep puncture in her side. The rogue had missed her spine and caught her hip instead, which is why her leg had failed her. He reached for the kit Zevran used and pulled out a health poultice. Leliana shook her head.

"I've had one," she said softly. Her fingers pushed it towards him. "You look as if you need it more." She reached up to touch his cheek and he winced as her fingers touched the furrow left by the arrow. He'd forgotten the wound, despite the stiff feel of that side of his face. "Another scar," she whispered softly.

Aedan dropped his eyes from hers and took a deep breath. Another scar. He'd have more than a few from this fight. Looking up again, he met her blue eyes and tried to look anything but tired and in pain. "We need to head towards the other Wardens," he said quietly. "Luke..."

Leliana nodded immediately.

Zevran finished tending her wound and put a hand on her shoulder. "See if you can stand, Leliana." Aedan scooped Rory from her lap, giving his son a brief squeeze before putting him down, and Zevran helped her stand. She took a step forward and grimaced.

"So long as I do not have to run, it will hold," she said.

Aedan attempted to stand and found he could not. The wound at his back pained him terribly and his body had stiffened as the adrenaline left him. Fatigue pulled at his limbs and his thoughts. He knew a part of it was the hole in his lung. The blade had nicked it. Left alone, it would heal in time, but until them it would bother him, rob him of breath and stamina, neither of which he could afford right now. He reached for the health poultice and downed it, grimacing at the bitter taste. The warmth spread throughout quickly, however, and he instantly felt his breath ease. Pain ebbed somewhat. His various wounds remained for the most part, but he was able to gain his feet.

Zevran offered him a hand up and he accepted.

"Are you well, Zev?" He looked the rogue over, checking for obvious wounds.

"I am, Aedan. Can you carry Grace?"

Aedan looked down at the ground again, wondering how he'd bend down to pick up his little girl. Then he stopped thinking and did it, reaching for her again and hefting her light form into his arms. Zevran picked up Rory and Leliana collected her bow. Aedan pulled Grace close and she tucked her blonde curls beneath his jaw. They set off back through the woods. Again the peaceful scene tugged at his sensibilities, they were not just setting off for a walk through the woods, carrying their children. They were still in the middle of a battle, in the eye of the storm, in a small copse alive with birdsong and the rustlings of small creatures. The scent of battle had faded away with the camp and he caught only whiffs of the mulched leaves beneath his boots and then, stronger as they approached, the burnt wood, the faint trace of death and the sickening creep of the taint.

They broke through the trees finally and came out on a ridge. Below them spread farmland, various paddocks and fields dotted with sheds, and in the middle stood a ruined farmhouse. Aedan felt the pull of the taint and knew that's where they were, the ghouls and the Wardens. There were faint traces elsewhere, but the main concentration was in the half collapsed building at the centre. He started jogging towards it, unable to deny the call now, the need to defeat his mortal enemy pulling at him strongly. Grace's slender arms tightened about his neck as he ran and he murmured softly, "Hold on, my princess."

He skirted the pond, instinctively knowing what lay behind the tall stand of reeds, and paused before a charred shed. The smell of blood and the lingering odor of rot came from within. He moved on, making for the farmhouse, and as they pulled closer he felt the taint subside somewhat. It felt as if no live ghouls remained – but he stayed alert nonetheless. Rounding the corner of the front porch, he saw a Warden lying slumped against the wall of the house, Luke. Another Warden hovered close, Kyle.

Aedan turned his attention back to Luke and tried not to panic. He failed. He tried not to drop Grace and in this he succeeded. Kyle stood as he saw them approach.

"Commander," he said soberly before stepping back. Aedan did not bother to correct him – he still wore the armour, after all. His first concern was Luke. "The arrow is deep in his chest," Kyle explained. "He wouldn't let me touch it. Anders is in the cellar with the Wardens, ghouls down there, though not anymore?" He'd felt the taint subside as well. Nodding over his shoulder at the pile of bodies on the porch he continued. "Two alive over there, we're trying to keep them that way for questioning.

Nodding to all of it, his eyes never leaving Luke's prone form, Aedan held Grace out for the archer and when Kyle took his burden, he knelt down beside his son. The arrow was embedded deeply in his chest, he could see that. He felt for a pulse and found a faint flicker. Oddly, grief did not overwhelm him, purpose did. Forcing himself to his feet, he turned to see Leliana had finally made it to the porch. Her face fell instantly as she recognised Luke and she rushed to his side, dropping awkwardly to her knees, her bow clattering against the side of the house. Aedan reached to pull it from her shoulder before turning to face Zevran.

"Wardens are below, let's go."

He had to kill make sure the ghouls were dead and he had to get the mage out of the cellar. Luke did not have much time.

Zevran made it to the trapdoor set into the corner of the ruined room before he did. Aedan did not spare a glance for the assorted bodies inside the farmhouse. He followed the elven rogue and then they both paused as a head poked through the hole. Anders.

The mage looked up and blinked at them, then called down into the darkness, "Cavalry has arrived."

"Commander?" A voice called from the hole.

Would they ever stop calling him that? Probably not. "Ben," Aedan confirmed, his voice tight. Then he turned to Anders. "Luke needs you."

Anders gave him a frank look. "You all need me," he quipped. His gaze travelled down over Aedan's stained armour and he reached out a hand, his lips already moving.

"No," Aedan said. "Save it for Luke. I am still standing." Barely, it felt like, but standing.

Concern crossed Anders' face and he immediately stepped towards the door. The other two Wardens climbed back through the hole, looking grim and exhausted.

Ben came up last and he looked Aedan in the eye. "You don't want to go down there." He held out a handful of amulets, four of them. Aedan took them and looked down at the stained cords that threaded through them. They had been taken from bodies and he obviously did not want to know which ones. He glanced at the hole in the floor for a long moment before deciding to heed Ben's words. Of all the men in Thedas, he did not need any more nightmares. Turning, he followed the Wardens outside.

Leliana and Anders worked over Luke. The young man looked just as pale, but still breathed. They had snapped off the arrow but not removed it.

"We need to take his breastplate off," Anders said.

Gerard slumped down against the wall and covered his face with his hands. Ben crouched down next to him, a hand to his shoulder, and murmured quietly. Zevran had both the children in hand and had led them a short distance from the house to an unsullied patch of lawn. Looking at them, Aedan realised he'd forgotten, briefly, that they were here. It was too much to comprehend all at once, this collision of all of his parts. Dead ghouls below and beside him, the stink of taint crawling along his skin with the sweat and grime of battle, the smell of it all. The call of circling crows, the whisper of the wind through the wheat field, the low voices to all sides. A groan from the prisoners. His family and his calling intermingled. Shaking his head, Aedan moved towards the barely conscious men and searched them again for hidden weapons. He then began stripping their armour off, tossing it into a pile off the porch as he worked. Every now and then he glanced over his shoulder at Luke. He wanted to be next to his son, to hold his hand, just in case... But Leliana was there and Anders was there and he'd get in the way.

Kyle appeared next to him with a coil of rope and together they bound the two mercenaries to the columns of the porch, seated, hands behind them, legs before them. One of them remained unconscious and Aedan knew he hovered between life and death. "Get him a poultice," he ground out, gesturing Kyle. These were men, not darkspawn, and currently they offered little threat. He could not kill them, much as he'd like to. He tapped the barely conscious one on the head. "Hey."

The man looked up at him and recognition flared in his brown eyes. It took Aedan a moment longer to return the look, beneath the sweat, the grime and the blood, the man had a familiar aspect and when he recognised him, Aedan rocked back on his heels. The light headedness he could attribute to his wounds, but he knew it also as a sense of failure and remorse.

"Justin," he said.

Justin spat at him, the filthy wad falling short and landing on the weathered and torn boards between them.

They had met one year before.

Potential recruits wandered into Vigil's Keep now and again, every other month or so, and Justin had arrived just like that, in worn leather armour and a pair of daggers at his back, both too fine for a man so ill kept. The Wardens asked no questions, they never did. They had scoundrels among their ranks, pick pockets, pirates, forgotten second sons, old soldiers, a young man escaping an arranged marriage, a Dalish who had wandered from his path and, always, there were men who had lost someone during the Blight and sought their vengeance. They had two former assassins, and one quiet man who barely spoke at all – no one knew his real story and until he chose to tell it, they would let him be. Aedan had let the man fight at his back, placed trust in him as a brother, and he had not failed him. That was good enough.

But Justin had felt different from the start. His former profession never felt former – whether he killed or stole or simply traded information – his motives were never clear. Zevran had taken an instant dislike to the man.

"He is not here to be a Warden," the Antivan had said.

"Then why is he here?"

He had been there to collect information, though Aedan could not fathom what secrets the rogue thought the Wardens might have. The things that only Wardens knew were passed from mouth to ear and never written down. The Dark Ritual was never spoken of. Their business affairs and dealings with the freeholders surrounding the Keep were transparent and honest. Tension existed, however, between the Arl of Amaranthine and the Bann of Amaranthine.

They had never found a conclusive link between Bann Esmerelle and Justin and the rogue had caused his own trouble in the end. The Wardens went into Amaranthine once a month to trade and enjoy the wider variety of entertainment the city offered. A young nobleman caught Justin cheating at cards and the rogue pulled out a dagger and threatened his opponent, leaving a serious wound in the man's neck. Attacking a noble, drawing blood, did not pass without consequences. He left the tavern before the city guard could capture him and apparently returned directly to the Keep. The guard arrived at Vigil's Keep two days later with a warrant for his arrest. The young nobleman had been found dead in his rooms, all his coin missing. The city guard threw him in the dungeons where he howled and swore for two days awaiting trial.

Aedan went to see him.

"You need to conscript me," Justin said by way of greeting.

"I do not _need_ to do anything." Distaste for the man coloured his words.

"I know your secrets!" the rogue hissed.

To his side, Zevran drawled, "What, that we eat lamb on Wednesdays?

"Your pet elf cannot protect you always."

Aedan chuckled. Philippe had called Zevran his pet elf once. He now looked to the older man as a father. But he knew he would never foster a relationship with this sorry excuse for a man.

"Tell us your purpose at Vigil's Keep and we will see about having your sentence commuted to exile instead of death." An empty promise and they both knew it. But Aedan would not conscript this man, he'd rather fight beside darkspawn than the filthy rogue in the cell before him. _By any means necessary_ did not cover accepting traitors into their ranks – not to him. And Esmerelle would rather see her spy hang from the gallows than free to sell her secrets as well. But if Justin even thought the possibility existed, he might talk.

He spat through the bars. Justin then disappeared, neither conscripted nor hung, and the Wardens suspected Esmerelle and she, of course, suspected them.

That he sat here now, ejecting a wad of spittle across the porch of the ruined farmhouse, only confirmed Aedan's suspicions. Standing up, he nodded to Kyle. "Keep an eye on him."

As Teyrn of Gwaren, even as a Cousland, he had a right to kill the man, there and then. He had plotted against a noble, had brought harm to his family, had caused the death of Peter, a knight in service to Highever. He had killed and tainted countless citizens along the way, families and, he glanced towards the cellar – he knew what was down there – children. He had to walk way. If he killed this man, they had no evidence against Esmerelle. Growling low in his throat, the rage surging up from his belly, fists clenched, a red haze before his eyes, Aedan walked away. He felt the eyes of Leliana and the Wardens on him as he stalked across the ground, away from the porch. The urge to throw back his head and yell in frustration caught him and held him almost immobile as fury roiled within. As always, when his anger threatened to sweep him away, Aedan thought of Philippe, his rock. He imagined the man's hand on his shoulder, and the softly accented voice. 'Find your focus, Aedan.' The techniques were Alistair's, taught him in the Deep Roads, and he reached for them. His focus was Leliana, his heart. Luke, Rory and Grace, his children.

He breathed. He calmed. The fury still existed, but he won over it and pushed it away. After Orlais he had thought the rage burnt from him along with all other emotion. It saddened him in a way to find it had returned with all else, but he had better control now. A hand touched his arm and he opened his eyes. Zevran stood there.

"An old friend has come calling, Zev."

Zevran looked back towards the porch and narrowed his eyes.

A hand tugged at his leg and Aedan looked down to see Rory standing there. He noted he'd lost one of his leg plates and he stared blankly at his legs, one armoured, one not, for a moment, then leaned down to pick up his son, heedless of the blood and grime covering him. Rory had seen it all now, well, not all, but enough. He needed to be close to his father. Grace stood by and he held out a hand to her.

From this distance and through the sweaty dust on the man's face, Zevran had not recognised the rogue and so Aedan said the name. "Justin."

Zevran stiffened and turned back to him. "We need to send a message to Denerim."

"Yes. And quickly. One of the archers at the camp got away."

Turning back towards the woods, Zevran said, "I will go."

If anyone could catch the archer and prevent word of this catastrophe making its way to its architect, it would be Zevran. Placing a hand on the elf's shoulder he said, "Don't take too long, Kayley will be waiting for you."

They were two days south of Denerim now. Zevran would be adding four or five days to his journey south. It did not occur to Aedan to send someone else, despite knowing Zevran wanted to see Kayley, needed to see her. He trusted no one else to do the job properly.

"I will see you in Gwaren before the snow flies, my friend. Tell Kayley to keep the bed warm for me." With a wink and a nod of the head, the closest Zevran ever came to a salute and more than Aedan ever required from his friend, the elf moved away.

"Maker watch over you, Zev."

A raised hand waved briefly over his shoulder as Zevran broke into a run, sprinting back towards the tree line.


	25. A ManySplendored Thing

A Many-Splendored Thing

Being a father was both everything and nothing like Alistair imagined. Before taking Henric into his home he thought he knew what it would feel like. He had watched over Aedan's children before, he had held them, played with them, comforted them – or had tried to, sometimes with little success – and loved them as if they were his own. But they had not been his and he did not recognise the distinction until the very first time he closed the door to the small bedroom they had arranged for Henric. He had spent a quiet, peaceful hour with the boy, reading him a story, and then he had said goodnight. He did not touch his lips to the small forehead as he might have done for Rory or Grace, but he'd felt the urge to, as if such a kiss might be a seal of protection required to carry a child through the night. Though he'd only known Henric a short time, he felt the stirrings of love for the boy. This did not surprise him, children were easy to love. What he'd not prepared for was the deeper emotion that would come with knowing he was wholly responsible for that one child, forever.

Every night he read to Henric and every time he thought about dropping a good night kiss across his forehead and every night he held back. Maybe because he had not been shown much affection as a child. The kitchen staff at the castle had taken turns tending him when he needed it; otherwise he'd been left to his own devices. Eamon, he recognised now, had tried. Isolde had not. The first proper bond he had formed had been with Duncan, the first lasting bond he had formed was with Aedan. He had no problem admitting his loved his brother. He and his fellow Warden had confided such before, in a bout of extreme drunkenness, they'd laughed about it the next day. But he knew they would be friends and brothers always, no matter what happened. And it was a good feeling to know that someone out there loved him as a friend and not as a king.

Brenna had been the first woman he had loved properly, as a man is supposed to love.

Eamon had been in turns gentle and insistent in him finding a wife and, though he missed his uncle, he had considered thanking the Maker the man had passed before having to endure three long years of waiting for an heir. Together, during Alistair's second year on the throne, they reviewed candidates and settled on the two most likely. Alistair chose one, resigning himself to a marriage of convenience, hoping for union of friendship. And then he had met Brenna. He did not recall why she had not been seriously considered. Thinking back he thought maybe her youth had kept her from the list, she had barely been twenty when they met and he knew Eamon had hoped to match him with someone a little older, someone settled and mature. Also, she had been the only surviving child of Arl Wulff; the man had lost three sons to the Blight. He thought perhaps Eamon had glossed over her for other reasons as well. Her impassioned attachment to causes such as the plight of the elves, the Dalish and the populations of the alienages, and her interest in orphans would not endear her to many of the nobility, not when the country had recently suffered such upheaval. But Alistair had been entranced, by her beauty, her voice and her convictions, and by the neat package entire, slipped into the form of a petite, barely five foot woman with long, black hair and emerald green eyes.

And Eamon, having known love in his own marriage, acceded to his whims and Brenna was courted as queen.

"You are quiet tonight."

Alistair turned to regard his wife. She lay beside him, on her side, her face cushioned by silken, black hair and one arm as if the bed pillows were not necessary.

"Quiet is good," he said with a smile. Giving her his best roguish look he added, "We can accomplish much when it is quiet."

She chuckled, but did not respond to the invitation by moving forward to begin the familiar dance of hands and lips and touches. She was tired and he was too. Reaching out a hand, he stroked a lock of dark hair away from her face.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"You," he answered, and he had been, at the last. Then he added, "And love, the people I love."

A cheeky grin took her lips. "If only Ferelden knew their king lay awake at night thinking of love and not politics."

"Well, I do that too, but these thoughts are much nicer, if not a whole lot less confusing at times."

Her brows dipped slightly. "What has you confused?"

"Not you, love. Though I will not say 'never you'. All women can be confounding." He grinned and she chuckled in response. "I was thinking about Henric and what it is like to feel responsible for... all of him. It's... overwhelming."

"It is."

Relief caught him then, at her admission. He'd thought she had all the answers, women often acted as if they did. Glancing downward, toward the area of bed where he thought her tummy might be, he said, "I wonder if she will be as quiet as he is."

"What happened to 'he'? And boys are quieter than girls, Alistair."

Remembering Grace's screams the day he'd carried her from the orphanage after Rory had supposed they'd be living there (Aedan and Leliana had been in Orlais), Alistair winced.

"Well, so long as she does not talk as much as Lanford, I will be well pleased." He leaned in to kiss her nose.

"Only one Lanford may exist in any given period, Thedas would become unbalanced otherwise. But I do not want to lie in bed and talk about your chancellor; it is bad enough when you talk of treaties and contracts. I would rather talk of love."

"I thought you were tired?"

She smiled and he saw the fatigue in her eyes. Gathering her close, pulling her next to him, he held his wife in his arms as she settled her head to his shoulder, and he said quietly, "I know a poem about love. If you don't tell anyone else I know such a thing, I will recite it for you."

A soft chuckle sounded against his chest and he recited the poem, feeling her drift off to sleep before he had finished.

* * *

The king had an unexpected visitor waiting in his office the next day.

"Zev, I thought you went to Gwaren with..." panic hit him quickly then and he gaped a moment, unable to fathom the reason the Antivan would not be with either Aedan or Luke. No, his mind stated, no.

Zevran, obviously reading his expression as easily as one reads the chantry board, immediately said, "Aedan is well."

"Luke?"

"Recovering, I hope."

So there had been an ambush. Motioning the elf to a seat, Alistair flopped into the one next to him, not feeling as if he could actually walk around the desk that moment, so great was his relief. "Tell me everything."

Nearly a week had passed since Aedan had left for Gwaren. He should half way there by now, though given the injuries Zevran described, it might take them nearly two weeks to cover the distance. Alistair glanced out the window, taking in the typical fall day, the crisp air and vibrant blue of the sky, the oddly bright autumn sunshine, not quite full of warmth. Would it be snowing through the Pass yet? Turning back to Zevran, he motioned for the elf to continue. "Did you find this archer?"

"I did."

"Did you manage to stop him?" Stop, kill...

"I did not."

Alistair felt his right brow arch and saw Zevran's eyes flick upwards with it. The rogue smiled. Alistair tried not to shiver.

"Ah... what did you do?"

"I followed him here, to Denerim." Zevran obviously enjoying dangling little pieces of information before him and Alistair tried to swallow his impatience. The rogue would not play such a game if someone's life were in danger, which meant he had found a satisfactory reason for his calm demeanor. He could see one obvious flaw in the elf's plan, however. Zevran sat here, in the palace, while the archer could be half way to Amaranthine now, if Aedan and his suppositions about this Justin were true.

"Are you not concerned he might have left for Amaranthine?" Alistair asked.

"Esmerelle is in Denerim."

If Leliana remained in the city, as his chancellor, he would have known this. Alistair sighed in frustration and balled his fists atop his legs. Lanford did all that was required of him, but the man did not make a suitable guest to all functions. Leliana had moved amongst the nobles as one of them, not as a chancellor. He needed to replace that facet of her role, soon. He looked up at Zevran.

"Did he meet with her?"

"Yes, he did. He was a clumsy fool; he waited barely an hour before approaching her accommodations and then used the kitchen entrance. I followed, naturally."

"Where is she staying?" Alistair tried not to cringe as he asked this. Before the plague she had been the frequent and honored guest of Vaughn. If Zevran mentioned Garrett, if his new Arl of Denerim had already started to consort with the likes of Esmerelle, then once again his trust had been misplaced.

"The Gnawed Noble."

Right under his nose.

"I need a royal spy."

"I can recommend someone. But let us finish this business first, yes?"

"I assume you overheard their conversation?"

If Zevran could blush, he might have then. Instead he merely looked uncomfortable. "They locked the door." He held up a hand, "However, I heard enough to be assured he reported directly to her. I heard the word Warden more than once, from her lips. She did not take the failure of the ambush well."

Nodding thoughtfully, Alistair mused over the implications of this information. He could think of at least one obvious reason why Esmerelle might hold a grudge against Aedan – the appointment of Nathaniel Howe as Arl of Amaranthine. But to kill him over it? It made little sense.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he gestured for the guards at his door. Zevran laid a hand over his.

"We will need to do this carefully and delicately."

Zevran outlined his plan and Alistair agreed to all of his suggestions. They summoned the captain of the guard and the man listened attentively, offering only one further caveat. Patrols at every gate were doubled and the docks were locked down. No ship would leave harbour until Esmerelle took up residence in the dungeons of Fort Drakon.

The next day the noblewoman walked into the trap laid out by the Antivan Crow and she, her small retinue, and the archer were arrested and taken to the Fort. Zevran had enticed her to a meeting using Justin's name, assuming the rogue would contact her by more subtle means than the stupid archer. His message had included the information that the Warden yet lived, but had lost his son in the attack, that he was returning to Denerim. Aedan's reputation as the man who had slain the archdemon and lived served him well. Those not in awe of him feared him. The rumours of his berserk rages only fueled the fear of men and women who did not know him. Zevran's message only had to hint that Aedan knew who was behind the attacks and Esmerelle reacted as expected. She panicked. She did it quietly and with as much control as could be expected from a noble of her stature. She sent the archer to the meeting and ran, with her attendants, in the opposite direction.

Zevran met the archer and the guards met the noblewoman and a not so joyous reunion occurred at Fort Drakon. There, Alistair awaited them all.

It did not occur to him to be cruel, to let the bann languish in the dungeons while he toyed with her mental state. Alistair did not particularly like to play such games. He had been the loser too many times to develop a fondness for them. Taking the former Crow as his only companion – both as bodyguard and confidant – he visited her not an hour after the door to her cell had clanked shut.

Alistair did not like the dungeons, no sane man would, he supposed. But he had particular and unsavory memories of the place. On his first visit he had occupied the very same cell Esmerelle now sat so primly in. He'd not been given a stool, however, and he'd not been allowed to keep his clothing. He'd had Aedan with him, almost broken in the aftermath of his first berserk fit. For two days he had sat next to his brother Warden and talked him out of simply waiting to die.

Shaking the memory free, burying it deeply again, Alistair stopped before the iron bars and looked inside at the noblewoman. She looked small, somehow, in the dim corner. Her attendants were out of earshot, on the other side of the staircase leading further downward, to where the rarely used instruments of torture lay gathering dust. He let his gaze wander to the staircase, hating himself for the gesture, but knowing she would follow the direction of his eyes and understand what he silently implied. Next to him he felt Zevran's quiet approval. Esmerelle would not respond to the same King that ruled Ferelden energetic and benevolently. She would only answer to a man hardened by life – the orphan, the bastard King and the Warden, a survivor of the Blight and more. A man who had languished in that same cell, a man who had faced down the Mage and decided a better fate for his people than a tainted plague and union with the darkspawn.

"Esmerelle, you stand accused of the following crimes." He kept his voice as dispassionate as possible. "First and foremost, treason against Ferelden, in the form of willingly taking and tainting her citizens, and second, of a plot to assassinate the Teyrn of Gwaren. Between these two lies the countless deaths of innocent people." After a brief pause in which neither her nor his expression seemed to change, he continued. "Do you have anything to say on your behalf?"

"Likely nothing I say will convince you not to execute me."

He shook his head, not sadly, firmly. "No."

"Then why should I give you the satisfaction?"

_Because I need to know!_ Anger would not serve him here, only rational discourse – if questioning a traitor could be considered such.

"Who else in Amaranthine supports you, Esmerelle? Who else will lose their head over your folly?"

Her eyes narrowed, but he did not miss the way they widened first. Zevran had thoroughly investigated the woman a year before, when it had been suspected she colluded with the rogue, Justin. She had a 'cousin', one she favoured, Margot Oelberg. What was not widely known, but formerly suspected and now proven, was that Margot was Esmerelle's daughter, born illegitimately before Esmerelle had attained her sixteenth year, and raised as her cousin.

"You expect me to offer my life for that of my cousin? I am not a compassionate woman, life has taught me otherwise."

"Then I can only assume Margot colludes with you and should be sentenced alongside you."

Panic flared in her eyes, briefly. "She is not aware of my plans."

"Then save her by telling us who is."

A small list of names was produced, none coming as a surprise, one in particular a minor bann obviously clinging to the coattails of his betters who would not live to regret pinning his hopes on the wrong party. Alistair sighed as quietly as possible over the thought of more deaths, executions, and more upheaval in the north. Another name had him more concerned, a southern bann.

Was this about more than Amaranthine? An easy feeling swirled in his gut. He'd known, deep down, it had to be. History had not quite forgotten Sophia Dryden and the reason Grey Wardens had been banished from Ferelden over two hundred years ago. He could not allay their fears verbally; he could only lead by example. Ferelden had a Warden King, and now she had a Warden Teyrn and a Warden Arl.

"Do you have anything further to say?" he asked, keeping his tone as level as possible.

"Why did you give Gwaren to that man?"

There were many obvious responses, _because he is my brother, because he won the title when he killed the former teyrn, because he is noble born and educated to hold a teyrnir. _

"Because he is the best man for the job." He believed that, he always had. He had hoped that Aedan would not remain a Warden forever, that one day he would rule beside him, as his teyrn and his brother. But in the beginning he had given him Gwaren as a reward. Wardens gave up their nobility and their titles, they held no land. But Aedan had taken a wife and had fathered a son. When he went to his Calling, he would leave someone behind and Alistair would not have the wife and son of the Hero of Ferelden nameless and left in obscurity. "He has given more for his country than all of us, Esmerelle. Is Gwaren not a fitting reward?"

"You have divided Ferelden between the Couslands. Do you really trust them that much?"

"I do." No hesitation, no question.

"You are a fool, Alistair."

"I love Ferelden, Esmerelle, and my people. I will always strive to do my best for them."

"You think I do not love my country?"

She really did think him a fool...

"You tainted your own people, _my_ people." A pulse pounded lightly in his temple and he fought now to keep his tone emotionless. He failed. "You as good as colluded with the darkspawn!"

She flicked a hand at him. "I have heard of your Warden mottos, 'By any means necessary?' Besides, that was Justin's idea, not mine."

Alistair stepped away from the cell and turned back towards the stairs, the stairs up and out of the dungeons. He could no longer remain emotionless and detached, it was time to leave. Anger and sadness warred for dominance within him, and beneath it all something he cared for less, a sense of betrayal. Not by Esmerelle, but by her actions. Besides the deaths she had caused and the trouble she had spread, she had reminded him that people could be heartless, selfish and cruel. A lesson he'd learned over and over and never liked being reminded of.

"Gwaren will not rest easy in his hands!" she called after him.

The king did not pause and he did not acknowledge her. He continued ascending the stairs.

Zevran caught up with him at the top. "Just because they are the words of a bitter and heartless woman does not mean you should not heed them."

Turning, Alistair frowned at Zevran, unsure of his purpose. "What are you saying?"

"Gwaren has chafed beneath the hold of the Couslands, in minor ways, for five years now."

Alistair nodded. "I am aware of this, as is Aedan. We both hope his presence will serve to strengthen and soothe his banns and freeholders."

Zevran nodded. "I fear Aedan has not seen the last of his battles."

Shaking his head tiredly, his fury beginning to wane beneath the weight of his thoughts, Alistair replied, "I don't think any of us have, Zev."

The colonel's office lay just ahead and Alistair paused just beyond earshot of the guard at the door and turned once more to Zevran. "I don't thank you enough for all you do for us, for Ferelden."

"Ah, but you do, my friend."

"What else can I give you?" he asked, thinking to reward the man again – for doing what he did, for watching over Aedan and for helping once again bring a traitor to justice.

"Never doubt my friendship." A somewhat cryptic response. "That is all."

Zevran offered his hand and Alistair took it. If only all deals felt as solid, as right.

"Times like this I don't feel very kingly, you know?" Alistair mused quietly.

"You did well and appeared very regal. She gave you more than I would have expected."

Surprise took him again. "Really?"

Zevran smiled and nodded towards the colonel's office. "Give the order and we are done with this."

A quiet chuckle found its way into the back of Alistair's throat. "So it is you who teaches Luke his impudence."

"Of course!"

The guard bowed and opened the door and Alistair gave his colonel the order to have Esmerelle executed.

* * *

That evening Alistair followed his customary routine and settled into the chair placed beside Henric's bed in order to read the boy a story. He had chosen a very specific book, one given him by Aedan nearly five years before, not long after the Blight. It was an adventure story about two Wardens who had gone in search of the fabled griffons in the hopes of reviving the line and returning winged mounts to the Order. The pair were brothers, of blood and duty, named Gwilim and Dewydd. He and Aedan had often laughed together over how to pronounce the names and then had claimed one each, he was Gwilim and Aedan was Dewydd. They talked of a time when they might have an adventure such as this, one that did not involve darkspawn or politics or assassins or the future of a nation.

It was a children's story and as he read it, Alistair wished life were always so simple.

"Here?"

Alistair looked up sharply, wondering if he'd really heard the soft voice. He'd been aware of a tapping sound, but had paid it little heed, thinking the boy merely moved his feet or tapped his hand absently as he listened, but now he saw Henric was patting the bed next to him. Did he want...?

"You want me to sit there?"

Henric nodded. Smiling, Alistair stood and sat on the bed instead. He stretched out his legs, as he'd seen Aedan do, and leaned back against the headboard. A warm little body pressed against his side, a head at his shoulder. A small hand tapped the page. Alistair did as bid and continued reading the story.

The boy dropped off to sleep not long after, soft snores rising from the head against his chest. Putting the book aside, the king let his head drop back and closed his eyes, intending just to rest, to enjoy the moment, to revel in the feel of the slight body against his, in the knowing that he thought of Henric as his child. This is how it feels, he thought, this is how a father loves a son.

Brenna woke him a short time later and together they tucked Henric in to the bed. Then Alistair bent down and pressed that small kiss to the boy's forehead.

"Maker keep you," he whispered from the door. To the boy, to his brother, to all those he held close. To Ferelden.

* * *

_Another chapter and another song title. This time, it's from Frank Sinatra. _

_Love is a many-splendored thing,  
It's the April rose that only grows in the early spring,  
Love is nature's way of giving a reason to be living,  
The golden crown that makes a man a king.  
Once on a high and windy hill,  
In the morning mist two lovers kissed and the world stood still,  
Then your fingers touched my silent heart and taught it how to sing,  
Yes, true love's a many-splendored thing._


	26. Home

Home

Luke nearly died, twice, Anders said. By the time the mage felt able to leave the young Warden's side he looked just as pale and he staggered a few steps away, slid down the outside wall of the farmhouse, said, "Don't move him," and passed out. He had no lyrium potions left at his belt and, though more lay in his pack at the camp, Leliana would not let him take another until he'd rested.

They had managed to get Luke's breast plate off and then the arrow needed to be extracted. Leliana had had to do it, to pull the arrow back through his flesh, knowing she caused further injury as she did so, while Anders channeled healing after its path. Had it entered from the left, it might have pierced his heart and he'd have died long before Anders made it out of the cellar. Instead it had entered from the right, carving a path through his lung and other vital organs, a path she widened when pulling it back out.

Lying there, with no shirt, so pale, and bruised, blood still smeared about the boards beneath him, Luke looked very young. Leliana wanted to hold him in her arms, cradle him to herself, but she could not move him until Anders woke and checked on him again. Aedan appeared at her side, a roll of blankets beneath his arm. They reeked of the taint, even she could smell it, but until Ben and Gerard returned from the camp, they'd have nothing better.

Leliana tried to stand and found she could not. The wound at her hip, the constant dull throb she'd pushed away while helping Anders, flared back into being and she nearly fell forward. A soft, pained grunt heralded Aedan's descent to the porch, his own face pale and tense with pain, and he arranged himself next to Luke, flung a blanket over his son and held his other arm out to her. She crawled to his side and sat gratefully again. They leaned against one another, watching Kyle walking back towards the house, a small child on either side of him, each holding one of his hands.

She felt defeated, despite the fact they all lived, and she felt fear, that it wasn't over, that another attack awaited them or would descend on them from the other side of the fields and they no longer had the strength to fight. Leliana had felt this way before, during the Blight, in the Deep Roads. This utter exhaustion and the press of wounds, the fear they would not have time to recover before having to do it all over again. She didn't realise she'd started to shake until Aedan whispered to her.

"Leli?" His arm tightened about her shoulders. "Are you cold?"

"No." She wasn't, she felt more numb than cold. "I'm... afraid." She'd meant to say exhausted.

"Oh, love." He pulled her a little closer, causing them both to wince. "I feel nothing, there are no more coming."

Taking comfort from the sureness of his tone, Leliana tried to relax. He'd removed his armour and she curled into his side and rested her head against his chest, heedless of the grime and the blood on his shirt. She breathed in the scent of him beneath the blood, the familiar smell of sweat and steel, and closed her eyes. He often told her she was his source of strength, that he could not do any of it without her, and she'd told him the same thing. She felt it now, the solidness of him, the presence of his will. Despite the wounds covering him and fact he sat between his unconscious son and exhausted wife, she felt the coil of tension within, the readiness. If he had to, he would continue to fight. He would do anything and everything to protect those he loved. With that in mind, she let go of a measure of her fear and, to her later surprise, fell asleep.

When she woke up, the farm lay quiet around her. Aedan still rested at her side, asleep she saw, and Luke lay beside him, breathing softly, perhaps not quite so pale. The rosier glow of his skin might have been the waning sunlight, however, and Leliana glanced towards the west where the fiery orb of the sun touched the tree tops, spreading red gold light over the fields. Something warm shifted on the other side of her and she looked over to see Grace lifting her golden head. Leliana smiled at the familiar sleepy, almost awake, expression on her daughter's face.

"Did you have a nice nap, Gracie?" The little girl nodded and proceeded to snuggle back beside her. Leliana slipped her arm about the girl and continued surveying the scene.

Soft voices caught her attention and she saw Ben and Gerard standing a short distance away from the house. Gerard leaned against a tree and Ben stood before him, talking earnestly. She was glad to see the pair of Wardens. A gentle snort had her glancing to the side she saw the wagon piled with their packs and gear and the ox they used to pull it. The Wardens had returned from their camp successfully.

Kyle stepped into view then and he had Rory with him still. The boy was holding a bundle of something she could not identify as the light slanted behind them, their shadows touching the porch well before they did. Rory held two rabbits, upside down, by their rear legs. He and Kyle had been hunting, apparently. The archer had two more rabbits.

Another time she might have been perturbed by the sight of her four year old son holding a dead rabbit. Now her stomach only rumbled quietly at the thought of food.

Only Anders appeared to be missing and he solved his own mystery a few moments later by stepping out of the shed on the far side of the farmhouse, dusting his hands off on his robes.

"Mmphf." Aedan stirred beside her, opening his eyes and looking somewhat like Grace, half awake and half asleep.

"Hello, sleepy head," she said softly.

A smile appeared across his mouth, etching fine lines in his weary face. "And here we are, all alive still." He looked about. "I can apparently keep watch with my eyes closed."

Leliana chuckled and reached up to kiss his grimy cheek. "I'd expect nothing less."

Anders checked on Luke. Despite the young man's pallor, the mage said he did well. His pulse was strong and he slept rather than wandered the fade. "We can move him now. We'll spend the night in that shed over there. It is bare of grisly inhabitants."

The mage then began checking on everyone's health.

Luke was the most severely injured, but when Aedan finally pulled his shirt off for Anders to examine him, Leliana gasped at how many nicks, cuts, gashes and wounds he sported, the worst being over his left shoulder. Anders eased her hip for her and moved on to Kyle next, giving the archer some proper relief from his wounded shoulder. Ben had some bruises and Gerard seemed relatively unscathed, physically. But the look in his eyes haunted her; she'd seen it before, in Aedan. The Warden had seen something in the cellar he'd not soon forget. She did not have to wonder what it had been and she did not allow her thoughts to drift there. Instead she gathered her own, live, children to her and held them close, then whispered that they might want to go sit with the quiet Warden for a while.

Grace approached him immediately, that odd sensitivity of hers drawing her to his side, no doubt. She tapped on his shoulder and when he looked up, she sat in his lap and the Warden held her gently, breathed deeply and seemed to relax a little. Rory sat beside him.

The interior of the shed was just large enough to fit them all and they passed the night quietly, taking turns to eat and wash and sleep.

Luke woke in the morning.

Leliana felt more than saw him reach for consciousness and moved quickly to his side. His brown eyes focused on her and he smiled. "Leli," he said, as if he'd just woken up from a night of sleep.

"Oh, Luke." She touched his cheek. "How do you feel?"

"Hungry," he answered.

Smiling, she patted his cheek gently. "I will get you something."

By the time she returned with some broth he'd fallen asleep again.

"He'll be alright, Leliana."

Looking over at Anders, she nodded. "Thank you."

"Oh, I just did the magic thing; he fought the battle by himself." Anders lifted his chin towards Aedan whose shoulder was just visible outside the door where he stood watch. "They are much the same in that regard."

She could only agree. Luke and Aedan shared many traits. They were more father and son than many who shared the bond of blood.

They made South Reach that night and stayed two days at an Inn. By the time they left town everyone, including Luke, looked clean and relatively well rested. Their injuries had healed, but Luke still moved a little more slowly. He rode in the cart with the children quite often, which suited Rory and Grace, pleased them greatly.

Aedan walked at her side, holding her hand, and they talked quietly throughout the day. They did not talk of darkspawn or Orlais or of being a Warden. They exchanged stories, real and imagined. Aedan told her tales of himself as a child, the things he and Fergus used to do and she told him the same. They kept their conversation light and innocent and shared much laughter and many smiles.

When not in the cart with Luke, Grace seemed to have adopted Gerard. She sat with the Warden of an evening, lending him her quiet presence, and it seemed to help. The Warden delighted in the company of the young girl and Rory, when her brother joined them. In her sweet way she seemed to heal a wound in the man, or at least make it so he could live with it, and Leliana admired the selfless way in which it had been done. But the way the small girl clung to Luke told her much more. Grace had truly feared for him.

"What is she?" Aedan asked her quietly one evening.

"She is Grace," was all Leliana could answer.

...

A message awaited them at the next inn and Aedan grew pale as he read it. He passed it to her next and she passed it to Ben. Esmerelle had lost her head and Oghren had gone to Amaranthine to round up the rest of her coterie. The message gave them the name of a bann in the south, a man who had been part of the plot.

After dinner that evening, Aedan excused himself from the common room of the tavern, saying he wanted to take a walk. Leliana considered letting him go alone, she would have in the past – knowing her husband's need for solitude at times – but this time she elected to follow him. She caught him just outside the inn.

He turned at her step and smiled.

"Did you want to walk alone?" she asked carefully.

"No, I waited for you."

Leliana smiled. "What would you have done if I had not come?"

"Waited." He held out a hand and she took it and they stepped into the night.

Instead of idle chatter he wanted to talk about Gwaren.

"I feel unprepared somewhat, Leli. I knew it would not be easy to arrive there and suddenly announce my interest in being a proper teyrn instead of an absent one, but..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

"All of Ferelden has pockets of dissent, here and there. Gwaren is not so different."

He nodded, then turned to face her. "I will want to do my best for them, Leliana. I don't know how to do it any other way." He squeezed her hand gently. "I will need you to..."

"I will be there, Aedan. Always."

"I know. What I am asking is different."

"Oh?" Concern coloured her tone and her brows pulled together, mirroring his.

"If I become... obsessed, Leli, if I drive too hard, stop me." He paused and took in a quick breath. "I need you to keep me balanced."

She understood. This was the core of him, her husband, and he finally seemed to realise it. That relentless drive, that endless purpose. Dropping his hand, she stepped into his arms and hugged him close. "I will keep you here, with me," she whispered softly. She would be his anchor.

...

Zevran caught up with them in the Pass. Leliana felt him before she saw him and smiled at the familiar presence of the rogue. When he fell into step beside her, she said, "Good afternoon, Zevran."

He dipped his head. "And to you, Leliana."

Aedan stopped, gaped at his friend a moment, then pulled him into one of his fierce hugs which the Antivan endured with as much grace as an elf can when being crushed by a six foot something warrior.

Letting him go, Aedan said, "Once again I owe you a debt, Zevran, one I will probably not live long enough to repay."

Shaking his head, the former assassin said, "There is no debt amongst family."

Leliana thought she might weep at his words. He had heard her; the elf had heard her words in Denerim and taken them to heart. Blinking quickly, she pushed her tears away, sniffed as quietly as possible and turned her attention elsewhere until she felt less emotional. Zevran fell into step beside Luke and soon afterwards she heard the young man laughing.

Camp that night took on an almost festive air, as if Zevran joining them once again had turned the final page and closed a chapter. Everyone let out a breath of relief. Their journey had been uneventful and after the message from Denerim, they expected it would remain so. But to have all their number together again seemed to lift everyone's spirits.

Leliana pulled out her harp and everyone sang and danced. The children stayed up far too late and as she looked at their tired but happy faces she simply shrugged. They could sleep on the wagon the next day.

After the music Gerard told a story, an amusing tale of a brother and a sister in search of the gold at the end of a rainbow. Grace and Rory hung off of every word.

Before the story had finished, at weight landed on her shoulder and Leliana looked to see Luke asleep against her side. He'd walked nearly all that day, beside Zevran, and appeared a little pale. His breath did not sound labored though, and so she tried not to worry for him. She tried to look upon him as exactly what he was – an extremely tired eighteen year old boy. With that in mind she slipped an arm about him and let him sleep against her shoulder.

When the party broke up and people moved towards tents, she shook him gently awake.

"Can I sleep with all of you tonight?" he asked quietly. He had been sharing a tent with Anders before and after the ambush.

"Of course."

Giving her a self conscious look, he lowered his voice. "It's not a silly thing to ask, is it?"

"No, Luke. Rory and Grace will probably lie on you though, which will please Aedan as they have been using him as a pillow these past two nights."

He grinned. "That's kind of what I was hoping for."

She hugged him again and kissed his forehead and he didn't even flinch.

...

Two days later they reached Gwaren.

Leliana had had many homes in her life, more than she could count on both hands. The road beneath her feet probably counted as the most constant. Gwaren was the first place she properly considered hers. She knew Aedan had not properly claimed it as his yet, but he had Highever and she understood that. A childhood home ranked strongly in the list of precious places. She, too, had fond memories of the house where she'd lived with Lady Cecilie.

Over the past five years, on each visit, she had redone a room of the estate. It was not so large as Castle Cousland – the smaller size suited her – and the task was nearly complete. Two rooms still awaited her touch and one other she had left for Aedan. He had asked her to furnish the study for him, but she had told him he should do it.

"I have no flair for decorating, love," he'd responded.

They had been in his office at Vigil's Keep at the time and she had looked around at the bare room, the serviceable furniture, the scarred desk, the stuffed bookshelves and unadorned window and responded, "I know."

He'd laughed, sharing the joke.

"Every man should have a place all his own, Aedan. I do not care if you decide you want an earthen floor and want to keep a goat in the corner. It will be your room; it should reflect you, not my impression of you."

He regarded her carefully for a short while as if he tried to decide if she was amusing or strange. "Alright."

Looking at the estate now, a wave of something almost indefinable swept through her. It felt like homesickness, except she stood within a mile of her home, she could see the stone house from the rise, the forest surrounding it on three sides and the town of Gwaren on the other. Home. She was home. Aedan slipped an arm about her shoulder and kissed her cheek. "Nearly there," he whispered softly.

A group of men soon filled the road before the estate and Leliana felt Aedan tense beside her. Fear slipped down her spine and tickled her belly and she wanted to stand still in the road and refuse to move. _No, not again_, she thought, but Aedan's tension quickly turned into something more like excitement and his step quickened.

"They are Wardens," he said. He must have felt the taint from them, vaguely, at this distance.

His arm slipped from her shoulders and he strode forward, everyone in their small caravan moving faster to keep up as the anticipation swept through all of them. The Wardens advanced and their identities became clear, Philippe, Erick, Taren, Darat, Kayley, Sigrun and Kael.

Aedan hugged Philippe as if he thought the man might disappear if he let go. Leliana saw tears on both men's faces and she gave in to hers as she hugged and was hugged by everyone else. Philippe found her and kissed her cheeks, each one twice. Zevran and Kayley melted together into an embrace that only lovers could share, as if their bodies had joined on the road. Luke submitted to his hugs and the children were passed around like trophies. And eventually tears turned to laughter and they all stopped hugging and walked back down to the large house together.

"We are your guests, by the way, Aedan," Philippe said.

Aedan laughed. "I see, making yourself at home while the teyrn is away."

"I heard he was sympathetic to Wardens, I did not think he would mind."

Martha knew of their arrival and had been cooking for days. She'd been feeding Wardens for days also, apparently, and Leliana laughed as the matronly woman told her she'd already had to order more supplies. Then the minstrel rolled up her sleeves and helped with the cooking. Kayley joined her soon after and between the four them, Martha's daughter had come up from town to help out, they put together a feast.

Later that night Leliana looked around the large dining room at the collection of familiar faces and felt the ache of her cheeks. She had not stopped smiling for hours. It would not always be like this, with so many voices and stories, so much warmth and noise, so much laughter and love, but she relished it while she could. It felt like a proper homecoming. She also looked forward to the quieter family dinners, knowing that one would lead to the next, that she would not have to count the days, the meals or the hours until Aedan left her once more.

When she decided to retire, fatigue pulling at her not long after the children had been settled, Aedan rose with her and took her hand.

"You don't want to stay and catch up with Philippe?"

"No," he murmured softly, tugging her from the room to a chorus of goodnights from everyone.

He led her upstairs and paused outside their room where he took her into his arms and kissed her sweetly. "Tonight I want to spend with you," he said. "This is a new beginning and we're to do everything together now, remember?"

Giggling softly, she teased, "I am not going to decorate your study for you."

He shrugged. "I doubt I'll brush Gracie's hair."

"I will not be molesting Martha for your pancakes every morning."

"I will not be subjecting Luke to kisses that make him flinch."

"He does not flinch," she said, laughing now.

"He does, sometimes. It makes me laugh." He smiled widely. "I remember my mother doing the same thing."

"Are we going to stand outside our door all night and tell each other what we will not be doing?"

He kissed her again and tugged at her hand, pushing the door open. "No, I'd much rather show you what we will be doing."

And he did.


	27. Every Journey

Every Journey

Aedan dreamed.

He knew he dreamed when the maze appeared around him, the maze that only ever appeared in his dreams, that did not really exist in the gardens at the centre of the royal palace. The maze was a curious construction; the tall, green hedgerows always looked the same and yet he never remembered which way to walk. Panic always gripped him when he first saw the dark leaves rising over his head. He wondered if his legs would work, ghosted shackles always seemed to weigh down his ankles until he took a step, and then the dread would fade and he'd remember he wasn't lying on the floor of a dungeon, he was in a maze. Of course, that made little sense either, but that was the way of dreams.

Seasons were indeterminable in the maze, and he never knew the time of day. The sky remained the same, clear blue above him and though the sun never peeked over the high stone walls of the palace, the shadows were short, as if it shone right over his head. The ground always felt warm beneath his feet, which were bare, and the air felt warm too, comfortable.

Turning, Aedan looked each direction down the long straight path he stood in. He saw no one and nothing but the maze. A light breeze tickled his skin and stirred the leaves beside him and he watched them move as if looking for clues. Finding none, he picked a direction and began walking. He reached the end of the narrow lane and followed the hedgerows around the corner and down the same direction again. There he reached a dead end. Frowning at the leaves in front of him, Aedan turned and went back the way he had come. When he reached the corner again, the maze had changed. This had happened in his dreams before and only a small, lingering sense of unease caught him, not the panic that had him running headlong down the passages on previous visits.

The path met another row of hedge and Aedan reached out to pluck a leaf from the shaped green bush before him. It felt real enough in his fingers and when he bent it, creasing the shiny surface, a familiar scent rose from the bruised leaf. Juniper. The scent Leliana had begun to favour. Dropping the leaf, Aedan turned and walked for a while longer. When he finally thought to call out for Cian, he wondered why he'd not done so earlier, instead of wandering aimlessly through the maze.

"Cian?"

The small boy stepped around a corner and stood in the path before him. Aedan stopped and looked at... himself. He always regarded Cian with a sense of uneasy familiarity, seeing so many of his own features and none of Morrigan's. Where Rory seemed to combine two faces and two sets of features, Cian resembled him in every way. He did not speak as he did, however, he spoke like his mother, and his mannerisms were hers too.

"Hello, Aedan." Cian's voice always surprised him a little. The boy sounded older than nearly five. A smile lit his face then, and he looked as he was, a small child. Stepping forward, he offered his hand.

Taking the hand, Aedan fell into step beside him. "Were you following me?"

"I was waiting for you to call."

Odd, he'd never waited in that manner before; he'd always appeared at some point, usually when Aedan began to feel alarm. Cian tugged on his hand, leading him down another narrow path and after turning once at the end, they stepped together into the centre of the maze. The boy sat and Aedan sat with him. Time did not matter in the hedgerows. The world might change outside the realm of his dream, battles might be fought and children might be born and Aedan would not know it. He never felt anxious to leave, he always seemed aware that he when he did leave, the time would be right. So the warrior relaxed, stretched out his legs and leaned against the back of the stone bench.

Looking at his son, he did not think to ask the purpose of his visit, instead he asked, "Are you well?"

Cian smiled brightly, obviously very pleased by the enquiry. "I am!" A small hand touched at his shirt, right where a new scar threaded the skin over his ribs. "Are you well?" The hand moved to his shoulder, his left shoulder, which no longer pained him except in his memory.

"I am," Aedan replied solemnly. Then he remembered his other dream. "Thank you, Cian, for your warning."

The boy's smile warmed and he dropped his hands to the bench were he picked at the stone along the edge. His smile waned a little then, and he said somewhat seriously, "I will not always see it; I do not always understand what I see."

"That's alright."

"I am happy you trusted me, Aedan."

Aedan thought about this. It had been an almost split second decision to trust the words of his first born, delivered in a dream. He did not like to think what might have happened to Grace had he not. Luke probably would have lived regardless, unless by not chasing after his daughter Aedan had somehow irrevocably changed the course of fate. A shudder tried to pass through his shoulders and he lifted them in a sort of shrug instead.

Why did Cian come to him in his dreams? Why had Cian worked so hard to protect him, both in the fade and in Thedas? Was it simply because they were father and son? Did Cian care for him? Or did the boy seek to bind him in a less subtle way, through a series of favors. Did he mean to guarantee that when the time came, when, if Flemeth returned, Aedan would lend his sword? Thinking on this last one, Aedan pondered yet more questions. What aid did an Old God think he, as a man, could give? "I am just a man," he'd told Luke at Fort Drakon.

"To me, you are more," Cian said.

Aedan looked up. Had he spoken those words out loud?

"What am I?" he asked, lifting his hands to examine them, wondering if perhaps, in this dream, he was not a man at all.

"You are my father."

"Nothing more?" His hands looked human and just like his. He recognised the shape of his knuckles and the small scars here and there.

"I need nothing more."

Conversations in dreams could mean more or less. Aedan looked into the cool blue eyes studying him and saw that this conversation meant only as much as the words themselves. Cian looked at him as Rory did or Luke might.

"Just me."

"Just you."

Did the boy just want... a father? As the thought occurred, he saw an answering quest in the solemn blue eyes. Aedan considered Leliana's acceptance of both Cian and Morrigan into their family. If she could do it...

Reaching out, he touched the soft cheek. "I am here," he said.

Cian's answering smile lit his face in a way that could only be described as radiant. He looked like Rory then, that beam of sunshine transferring his serious demeanor into something that resembled that of a five year old boy. While Aedan did not doubt Morrigan was a good mother and that she cared deeply for her son, he wondered if she showed the boy the same affection he and Leliana gave to their children. He put a hand on Cian's shoulder and the boy moved forward and Aedan gave him a gentle hug. He took to it so naturally that he knew then that he'd been hugged before and often. That fact pleased him more than he could express and he hugged the small boy a little tighter.

As he let his son go, Aedan gestured the maze around him. "Did you ask me here just to talk?"

The solemn look returned to Cian's face and the boy shook his head carefully. "I saw her," he said.

"Who?"

"The one who hunts me."

Aedan stiffened. _Not now_, his mind yelled at him. _Not now!_ He would go, he knew he would. He had given his word. But the thought of going now, when he had finally chosen to do something for himself and for his family, pained him.

Taking the boy's hand in his, Aedan drew in a deep breath. "Tell me where I must go."

"Not now," Cian answered, echoing his earlier thought. "We have five years. I am not yet sure where." A fleeting uncertainty crossed the small features. "I will try to learn more."

"No."

Cian looked up at him, curious.

"Do not put yourself at risk by trying to..." he searched for the relative term and finally settled on what he'd been going to say, "see her. Wait until she shows herself to you." He tapped the boy's temple gently. "In here." Sweeping that hand out, he gestured the maze. "Or here."

"She cannot come here, this is _my_ place."

He had sounded just like a child and Aedan smiled, unable to help himself. "Good," he said. "Every boy should have a place that is his."

"Did you have a secret place?"

"I did."

"Would you... show it to me?"

Aedan closed his eyes. A part of him knew he needn't bother, he already dreamed, but it helped him conjure the images for Cian, of the secret places he and his brother had shared and of the one that had been his very own. He did not question that Cian would 'see' them.

"I have seen the cave before," the boy said. "You dream about it sometimes."

Nodding, Aedan drew the conversation back to Flemeth. "Cian, do you often try to see, or do things just come to you?"

"I am getting better at trying."

"Is that how you saw her before?"

He shook his head. "No. The big things, the important things, I do not have to try for those."

"Will you make me a promise?"

The boy shifted uncomfortably and twisted his small mouth briefly before finally nodding his head once in assent.

"Do not try to look for her."

"Why?"

After hesitating for just a moment, Aedan said, "I am afraid for you. She is... I do not know what she is. I am afraid she will find you more quickly if she... feels or sees you?"

This would probably qualify as the strangest conversation he'd ever engaged in.

Cian seemed to understand him, however, and he nodded carefully before giving his promise. "Alright."

"So, we have five years."

"I think so."

"I will be ready."

The smile again, the joyous one. "Thank you, Aedan."

Sensing their time together was drawing to a close, Aedan stood. Cian stood beside him and took his hand. The boy led him back towards the entrance to the maze.

"Cian?"

The familiar blue eyes glanced upwards, catching his gaze.

"You can..." Aedan hesitated then. Did he have the right to tell this boy what he could not do? Probably not. But he could invite him to do something. "Will you visit me again?"

"Of course. If I see anything I will let you know."

Cian took a step forward and Aedan tugged the small hand, bring the boy to a stop.

"You can visit otherwise, Cian. If you'd just like to... talk."

The smile blossomed again, more cautious this time, and Cian nodded. "I will."

Aedan woke up.

Opening his eyes, he blinked into the grey light of dawn before rolling his head to the side. Leliana still slept beside him and he watched her for a moment before closing his eyes again, thinking to doze until she awoke. When he opened his eyes sometime later she was awake and watching him. He smiled.

"It is so quiet here," he noted. The city of Denerim never lay completely still and in Highever he could often hear the ocean or the wind against the cliffs. In Gwaren he heard only birdsong and sometimes the wind across the tree tops which could sound like the ocean if he closed his eyes and imagined it.

"It is."

"I had a dream," he said.

Leliana nodded. Whenever he uttered those words, she knew what he meant. They talked of other dreams sometimes, but usually prefaced it with, 'I dreamt of you last night', or 'I had a funny dream'.

He told her a little of what he had talked about with Cian, that he'd sensed the boy had simply wanted to visit with him more than communicate, than he'd invited him to do so again. Leliana smiled briefly at that and touched his cheek, murmuring, "I can imagine he liked that." He told her about the hunt for Flemeth and felt relief when she agreed with his advice. "Do you think he will heed his promise?"

"For a while, at least."

"Five years." Reaching down, she took his hand. "We will be ready."

They were the first to arrive downstairs for breakfast, each of them with a child in hand. Then, as if the presence of one Warden in the dining room invited another, they came, one by one, Luke wandering in at the last, yawning and rubbing his eyes and combing sleep tussled hair with his fingers. Aedan chuckled at the sight.

Only Zevran and Kayley were missing and no one asked after them. They did not have to. Luke's announcement confirmed everyone's suspicions.

"I want to move to a room that is not next to Zevran's," the young Warden announced before turning to add, "or yours, Aedan."

Aedan winked at Leliana and they chuckled.

During breakfast he studied each of the Wardens. He'd seen them last night, but had been so overjoyed to be reunited with friends, to be home, that he'd not looked at them as Wardens. Now he moved his attention from one to the other, looking for what they'd seen beneath the ground. He told himself simple curiosity motivated his interest and for the most part that was true. Aedan felt no desire to go underground or even to take up arms again, not soon. He'd held his own during the ambush, he'd not hesitated as he had on the Northern Highway, and he'd managed not to lose control, he'd not given into the rage, he'd used it, effectively, but it had been a near thing. He needed more time. This thought did not frustrate him, he accepted it as necessary and thanked the Maker he now had it, that time.

On the road south he'd spoken to Leliana about his fear of losing control. Alistair's letter from Denerim had hit him hard. He'd known someone wanted him dead, but to see it spelled out took his breath away, particularly on the heels of his ordeal in Val Royeaux. A part of him wanted to sit in the road and wait for the Maker to take him, there and then, rather than wait for the next plot to unravel itself. A part of him wanted to put his fist through the wall of the tavern, in rage and frustration, at the unfairness of it all. The phrase, 'why me?' echoed about his mind. He'd clashed with Esmerelle on and off throughout the years, but this he had not expected. And, beneath it all, Esmerelle's plot highlighted his own struggle, that of separating himself from the Wardens.

He waited for Leliana outside the tavern that night, sure she would come. If she hadn't, he might have stood there all night, held still by the mix of fear and frustration, by the overwhelming responsibilities he had carried and still faced and by the choice he had made but still sometimes doubted. She had come, of course she had. Just having her at his side helped. He extracted a promise from her first, in regards to his obsessive tendencies, and then they walked. As always, the movement calmed and soothed him.

"I had hoped," he told her, "that I had left my anger behind, that it would not return with everything else."

"You have more control now, I can see it."

"Only just," he admitted. "Why could I not have left it behind?" he whispered, half to himself.

"Night follows day, Aedan. Without the darkness how would you know the light?"

"I would still love you without carrying this burden," he said, interpreting her words.

"But maybe not as passionately. You do everything in a big way, Aedan. It is you." She took his hand and squeezed it. "You are finding balance now."

"I couldn't do it without you." He hugged her close and kissed her forehead. Just having her close helped him feel that balance she spoke of.

Gazing at the Wardens now, in the light of morning, he saw that they were tired, and not just because they'd stayed up late the night before. They looked pale and weary, their faces edged with hard planes and fine lines he'd not noticed before. They looked worn and he recognised their fatigue. He'd felt the pull of it in his bones and his soul.

After breakfast he stepped to Philippe's side and asked him to meet with him.

"Of course," the older man said, his tone, as always, warm.

Aedan led the way to his study and paused just inside the doorway. In five years he'd done little to the room other than remove the previous occupants personal effects. The former teyrn, and he thought of him that way, the name Loghain MacTir leaving an uneasy feeling at the edges of his thoughts, had collected books and maps and those he had kept. The maps were no longer on display, however, they were now stored in map cases and cubbyholes beneath the bookshelves. Aedan had liked the bare walls, the lack of clutter soothed his mind, but now he looked about and realised just how spartan the room actually was. The window had no curtains which, with the onset of winter, he would need. The chairs before the desk were covered in leather rather than upholstered and though he'd never sat in one, he judged them uncomfortable. The chair behind the desk, the one he called his, looked no better. He had no couch, nowhere to nap.

Looking over at Philippe, Aedan said, "Leliana wants me to do something with this room."

The Orlesian took a quick inventory, one sweep of his blue eyes, and looked back to him with a broad smile. Then he laughed. "I can see why."

Remembering the cozy atmosphere of Philippe's office at Vigil's Keep, Aedan started to ask, "Maybe you could..."

Philippe held up his hands. "You asked me here for this?"

Feeling somewhat chastened, Aedan shook his head and grinned. "Well, no." He gestured one of the chairs and sat in the other, then waited for Philippe to settle himself before continuing. "I wanted to talk to you about the Wardens."

"Are you truly retiring, Aedan?" Philippe's tone held no recrimination, only interest and a measure of his concern.

"I am."

He had written Philippe letters. In them he had not told of his time in Val Royeaux, he had only mentioned illness and a desire to retire. Now he told Philippe the story he'd not wanted to put on paper. His capture by Marjolaine, his torture, the break – the total loss of control Philippe had always feared – how it had freed him and subsequently nearly left him helpless in the Fade. He told of Leliana's own ordeal and how Cian and Morrigan had rescued them both. The older Warden sat silent until the end, looking in turns stunned and very, very sad.

Finally, he reached forward and grasped Aedan's arm. "I am sorry."

"Don't be, Philippe."

"I sent you there..."

"You could not have known." Rubbing at the scar on his forehead, Aedan let out a soft sigh. "It is hard to say something good came out of such... horror. But I am a stubborn man. I am not sure anything less would ever have changed my course."

"I do not believe that."

Aedan shrugged. "Maybe I just search for reason where there is none."

The older man nodded in understanding. "Are you well, Aedan?"

"I think so," Aedan answered truthfully. "Even if I desired it, however, I am not sure I could return to the Deep Roads. I have the strength of body, but not of mind. If I did not get myself killed, I would lose myself. I can't go back, Philippe. I promised Leliana, and myself."

"I would never ask it. None of us would."

Swallowing, Aedan inclined his head. He'd known that, of course, but just the very thought of it had caused him to panic momentarily. Lifting his head he looked out the window. The window faced east and he knew that beyond the trees that lined the small rise lay the entrance to Gwaren, the dwarven outpost of the same name.

"Turning back to Philippe he asked quietly, "What have you found?"

The Orlesian Warden gave him many of the same details he already knew and then added the news that had only just been sent north to Denerim and Vigil's Keep. "We have mapped to the ruins you found during the Blight, the ones in the Brecilian Forest. They do indeed connect to the Deep Roads. We found no darkspawn presence there, however. They lay in the other direction, west. I have no doubt we will find exits in the Korcari Wilds, Ostagar and perhaps even as far as the Frostback Mountains."

An endless task. Aedan dropped his head forward and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?"

"For starting a task that will never be complete," and then abandoning it...

"Aedan, we all believe in this project. And we do not work alone, the Legion works with us. Humans and dwarves working together, even after the Blight. Your Wardens have a purpose beyond vigilance and they are completing a task that no one else has attempted. They have started to map the Dales, did you hear that? Orlais has followed your lead."

"Do not spend the rest of your life underground, Philippe," Aedan urged. Philippe had been a Warden for nearly twenty years. He only had ten left... Ten years. It hit him then, like the fever, the lack of time they all had. Rationally he knew that even if they had longer lives they'd still not finish the task, but if Philippe had only ten years remaining and he had only twenty four, or maybe less. Nausea roiled in his gut and Aedan gripped the arms of his chair.

Twenty four years. He did not often contemplate his mortality; he'd brushed death too often. Cian would need him in five, after that he'd have only nineteen. Would it be enough? What would Leliana do after he...

"Aedan?"

Philippe had a hold of his arm again and Aedan looked up to meet his gaze. He let out the breath he'd been holding and forced himself to relax. Philippe moved to get him some water and he accepted it gratefully. After he put the glass aside, he looked at his, no, Ferelden's Senior Warden, the leader of the Northern Patrol and the man he'd hoped would be Warden Commander in his stead. He could not ask...

Philippe broached the subject. "In your letter you asked me command the Wardens."

Aedan shook his head. "No." At Philippe's confused look, he continued. "I cannot ask it, not anymore."

The older man looked relieved. He'd have accepted, Aedan knew that, but he'd never wanted the title or the responsibility. Philippe could do the job, and he'd do it well. But he knew, as Aedan now did, that it would only be a matter of time. But then, wasn't it that way for all of them?

"Philippe, I want you to go home."

"Ferelden is my home."

"Just to visit. Go see your family, don't go underground again. None of you should, until you've had a sufficient break."

"As you command."

A chuckle found its way to the back of Aedan's throat and he loosed it. "I am not the Commander anymore."

"And yet here you are giving me orders."

Aedan laughed and Philippe joined him.

When they had sobered, Philippe asked, "How does Garrett fare?"

"Well. He is a good commander. The Wardens respect him and Alistair trusts him."

"It is a good appointment then."

"Yes." And just like that, the weight rolled off his shoulders. He'd hoped to give the Wardens to Philippe. He'd thought he'd be honoring the older Warden with the title. Now he realised that the Wardens would move on without him and they'd do it well. He could let go.

One last thing remained to be said. "Tonight we will say the words for Wyman and the men who lost their lives beneath Denerim."

Philippe nodded.

They stood and embraced.

"Thank you, Philippe," Aedan said quietly. At the older man's quizzical expression, he offered a small smile. "You are my rock. I don't know if I ever told you that."

Philippe shook his head and smiled. "I am honored?"

Aedan laughed and clapped his shoulder. "Now, what do you think I should hang on my walls?"

"I am not decorating your office for you Aedan."

"You are colluding with Leliana, aren't you?"

"Perhaps..."

That evening Aedan and Leliana sat outside in the garden and watched the sunset. Six weeks and several hundred miles separated him from Highever, but the sun set in the same direction. Instead of dropping beneath the cliffs it touched the treetops, lighting the leaves with gold fire, no natter the season, and casting long, deep shadows across the lawn. Leliana shivered and he wrapped his arms about her and she leaned back against his chest. Hooking his chin over her shoulder, he kissed her cheek.

"It's not quite the same, you know," he whispered.

"Hm?"

"The sunset."

Leliana smiled and he kissed her rounded cheek again.

"What is different about it?" she asked.

"It's colder down here."

"Then you will just have to cold me closer."

"You are already in my lap, any closer would be indecent," he said softly before caressing her ear with his lips.

"It is the same sun, Aedan. And we are the same man and woman..."

"No."

"No?"

"We are different. Every journey changes us, you have told me that many times."

"Yes, I have," Leliana said quietly. "Do you feel so very different, Aedan?"

"I do."

She turned to face him. "In what way?"

In so many ways. He had learned much about himself, his children and his wife and he had done it while walking and fighting. By talking and at times not talking. By yelling and crying. Instead of hiding and waiting to recover, he'd been living.

Instead of saying all of that though, suspecting she already knew it, he simply said, "I am happy."

Leliana smiled.

.

The End.

* * *

_Thank you to Bioware, as always, for letting me play in their sandbox._

_Thank you to everyone who took the time to read my story and to those who left comments and reviews. I appreciate you taking the time to follow my Aedan's continuing adventures and letting me know your thoughts._

_This story is dedicated to Aedan. He whispered to me throughout the month of August until I started to write it and he carried me through it, directing me when I deviated from my outline. By the end, as he says, he felt properly happy again and that makes me happy too, of course!_

_This story went a lot deeper than I expected it to. Aedan and Leliana both had a lot more healing to do as a result of the events in Orlais. Luke and Alistair had a little more thinking to do, Zevran had some decisions to make and Fergus obviously needed to find love._

_I dropped a lot of hints throughout this story about what I plan to do next; I hope they served to pique sufficient interest! I will not be writing the Flemeth story until after I play DA2. Though my world has deviated somewhat from the epilogues doled out by Origins and Awakening, I'd still like to see what Bioware has in store before I continue in that direction. In the meantime I have more shorts planned – the birth of Sarah, Alistair's daughter, and the departure of Zevran for Antiva. I also have a couple of sweet shorts in mind for Aedan and Leliana and a story for Aedan and Fergus as children._


End file.
